Imperfect Sword

Chapter Four

Kane Star System had been through a lot in the past year. The CEOs representing the Syndicate Worlds had done their best to tamp down rising rebellion, which had meant thousands of victims rounded up and summarily executed or shoved into rapidly expanded labor camps, where many died after months of deprivation. The final collapse of Syndicate authority had been marked by mass demonstrations that had too often turned into mass riots, inflicting considerable destruction on the cities of Kane’s main inhabited world. The ship repair and construction facility which had once orbited a gas giant world had been destroyed by the retreating Syndicate forces. And, once the hated Syndicate overlords were gone, there had been too many others competing to rule Kane, none strong enough to prevail and none willing to compromise enough to ally with other factions. Debate and argument had led to open fighting, inflicting further misery on the people of Kane and further destruction on their cities.

Given all of that, it was understandable that more than a few inhabitants of Kane Star System saw the arrival of a Syndicate battleship, accompanied by a curiously small number of escort ships, with anticipation as well as concern. Kane had no warships and no surviving orbital weaponry, no means of defending itself from space attack, so not even a futile gesture of resistance was possible. There were quite a few people who hoped the Syndicate would come in, wipe out those who had been fighting to rule the star system, then leave again, allowing saner heads to finally prevail in Kane. There were plenty of people who would have welcomed a return to Syndicate control if it brought stability. That had always been one of the Syndicate’s biggest arguments for legitimacy, that it provided peace and security for those under its rule. The price for those benefits was a steep one, but after the last year of death and disorder, the trade-off seemed a lot more worthwhile to some. As a result, this was one of the few times many of the residents of a star system greeted the appearance of Syndicate warships with any semblance of hope.

Kane’s orbital sensors had also long since been destroyed in revolt and infighting, and many ground-based sensors had also been lost. The first warning people received of the actions of the Syndicate warships came when fiery streaks appeared in the sky, marking the paths of bombardment projectiles tearing through atmosphere on their way to their targets.

Few had time to seek any cover or shelter before the bombardment began hitting, the falling projectiles producing massive explosions that gutted cities and shattered any industries that had survived until now. In a matter of minutes, more than half of those still surviving at Kane died, their bodies buried in the ruins of their cities and large towns.

The dazed survivors gathered what weapons remained to them and waited for the Syndicate warships’ next move, for further attacks or demands for surrender. But, after watching the results of their attack, the Syndicate vessels departed without any other actions and without transmitting any messages. They had, after all, already sent a message about the price of rebellion and had also ensured that nothing remained in Kane worth conquering.

Gwen Iceni sat watching the transmission with her expression schooled into stony impassiveness. It was hard, very hard, to watch the devastation that had been inflicted at Kane without revealing the revulsion she felt at those who had ordered such an action. “Where did we get this?”

“A freighter arriving from a Syndicate-controlled star system,” Togo answered, his voice betraying no more emotion than Iceni’s face did. “They were told the same information was being sent to all star systems in this region.”

“At least we know what CEO Hua Boucher did after we chased her out of this star system.” Iceni closed her eyes as the video continued to play, revealing the results of the bombardment of Kane in carefully composed and edited scenes designed to emphasize the resulting death and destruction. The images formed an incongruous counterpoint to the quiet and comfort of Iceni’s private office. “Didn’t another freighter just arrive here after passing through Kane?”

“Yes, Madam President. Their observations confirm that the bombardment shown actually took place.”

“Can they tell us anything else?”

Togo nodded, the placid gesture at odds with the ugly subject of their conversation. “There was no demand for surrender before the bombardment. No communications at all before the bombardment began striking. Afterward, messages asking for help were directed to the freighter from those on the surface.”

“What could a freighter do to help?” Iceni muttered angrily.

“Nothing,” Togo answered. “But the freighter did promise to bring word of what had happened at Kane to us here.”

“Why bother?” Iceni said, frustrated. “What can we do? Poor, damned Kane didn’t have anything left that the Syndicate wanted, so they turned that star system into an object lesson of the costs of revolt. It would take twenty star systems, twenty wealthy star systems, to be able to muster the resources to help Kane! I want to know how this transmission is playing with the citizens here, Togo. After seeing it, are they worried, scared, defiant, angry, or what?” She knew they would see it, no matter what efforts were bent toward preventing anyone from viewing the images. Those who had lived under the Syndicate knew how to pass information to each other by means even the once all-powerful snakes of the Internal Security Service could never completely shut off.

“I will have that matter investigated, Madam President,” Togo said with another deferential nod.

“And I want word spread around through our agents among the citizens,” Iceni added. “What happened at Kane didn’t happen here. No rioting, no fighting among factions for power, no bombardment by the Syndicate. Make sure the citizens are thinking about the fact that having me in power has prevented all of those things from occurring at Midway.”

“Yes, Madam President. Our agents will remind the citizens that they owe their lives and their security to you.”

She gestured for him to leave, a sharp flip of one hand, and Togo slipped out the door silently. Iceni waited until the door had sealed, waited to run a status check on her security systems and see the green status reports that claimed all was well, then called Drakon. “General, have you seen the images from Kane?”

The question had really been unnecessary. Drakon looked considerably grimmer than usual. “I’ve seen them.”

“Kane has asked us for help.”

Drakon grimaced, looking to the side. “Anything we can do is a drop in the bucket compared to what Kane needs.”

“I know. But… dammit, Artur, I wish we could have destroyed Happy Hua’s battleship and her with it.”

Drakon shrugged. “If wishes were warships,” he said, repeating the first half of the old saying. “Look, we can make a… symbolic gesture. That’s all it would be. It would save a few lives.”

Iceni gave him a keen glance. “I didn’t think we could even manage a symbolic gesture.”

“Sure. The Syndicate intended that Midway serve as a forward base if they deployed other forces here against the enigmas. We’ve got a fair amount of equipment stockpiled that would have been used by those forces.” Drakon was squinting as he read something off his own screen. “Yeah. We can break out of the warehouses two field hospitals and a deployable water purification/reclamation plant. One big freighter can carry all of that. I can send some of the local troops along to get the stuff set up and give a little assistance. Like I said, it’s a drop in the bucket, but it’s something.”

“We don’t need those hospitals and the water plant?” Iceni asked.

“We don’t need them now,” Drakon said. “Maybe someday we might, but we’ve already got a lot more junk in the buried warehouses here and on other planets in this star system than we can use.”

“What is it worth?” Iceni said, wincing inside at the need to consider cost.

“Worth? If we needed it, it would be priceless. But we don’t need it. Kane does, though.”

“Kane does,” Iceni agreed. “Artur, I am incredibly grateful for this. It may be a very small thing measured against Kane’s need, but Kane will remember this, that we helped them when they needed it.”

Drakon paused, studying her. “Is that what this is all about? Political maneuvering? Getting someone else to feel in our debt?”

“No! I—” Why am I objecting? Of course, I should be doing this to get Kane in our debt. That’s just a smart way of doing business. So what? “Is there some other reason?”

He shrugged again. “Just checking.”

“Listen, General, it doesn’t matter what our motivations are. Kane will be grateful.”

“And… ?”

“And what?”

Drakon gave her a serious look. “I was wondering if our motivations do matter. We started doing all this in order to survive. Is that still our reason for what we’re doing?”

Iceni leaned back, letting a small smile play on her lips, giving the outward image she had learned to project as a Syndicate CEO. “Isn’t that enough of a reason?”

“I don’t know,” Drakon replied, sounding thoughtful. “Survival can lead to a lot of short-term solutions that blow up in your face over the long run.”

“That’s not exactly breaking news,” Iceni said, wondering what Drakon was driving at.

“What do we want at Kane? There’s a lot of potential there, and the Syndicate just pretty much wiped out all the different people who were fighting to be in charge. It will be a decade before Kane can rebuild much, but if you and I are still around then, what do we want Kane to be? And what about Ulindi? If we take that star system, do we let them set up some government we can live with, or do we install a puppet, or do we make Ulindi part of our… what? Empire?”

She paused to think that through while Drakon waited with stolid patience. “Empire” sounded nice. But… “Could we even hold an empire? Defend it against external attacks and maintain internal order?”

“I don’t think so. We don’t have enough ground forces or warships for that job. Not even close.” Drakon waved one hand upward. “We’ve got enough firepower to do what the Syndicate just did at Kane, but I don’t mind admitting that I don’t have the stomach for that.”

“Nor do I. We’re trying to tie Taroa tightly to us. Why not do the same at Ulindi?”

Another shrug. “If we can, sure. What is it we’re building here, Gwen? Not another Syndicate, right? But what is it, then?”

“The Syndicate was never big on teaching about alternate forms of governance.” Iceni rested her chin on one hand, gazing into the distance. “We sure as hell can’t call it an Alliance. That name is poison here after the war. Partnership? Consortium?”

“Those sound pretty Syndicate,” Drakon said.

“They do, don’t they? But we’re talking about an agreement, shared among several parties. A treaty?”

“Maybe.”

“Or compact? A cooperative? There’s no rush coming up with a name, is there?”

“There might be.” Drakon frowned at her. “What we call it, what we propose to call it, will send a message to everyone else. Anyone we want to be part of it will be looking to see if the name implies anything Syndicate. Anyone outside it will be looking for signs it is a nickname for empire. When someone wants to know what Midway represents, what message do we send them? Survival and power for you and me? That probably won’t be too persuasive for other star systems. It might also create internal problems. Labeling ourselves rulers of something that sounds Syndicate would make our own citizens wonder if some of the rumors making the rounds are true.”

“If we present a name that sounds too weak,” Iceni objected, “it will make us look like an easy target. You’re right. We do have to think about this. It’s a marketing problem, isn’t it? We have to look strong but not threatening to those outside, and like a source of internal stability and protection but not Syndicate-level repression to those inside. We need to sell this to star systems that we want to join up, and present the right image to those we want to keep at arm’s length.”

“It’s not just marketing,” Drakon said, with an open disdain that made it clear what he thought of marketing as a profession. “Not just propaganda. It’s also about what form this grouping of stars takes, how much control we have or want.”

Iceni sighed, pressing one hand over her eyes. “We’re still working out how this star system will be governed. The details of that, anyway. Will what we decide to do here even work in other places, like Taroa, even if we can impose it on them?”

“We don’t necessarily have to impose it,” Drakon pointed out. “I talked to Captain Bradamont about how the Alliance worked. She said there’s a set of principles the member star systems agree to, that they can’t be like the Syndicate, for example, but beyond that individual star systems get to run themselves any way they want as long as it doesn’t conflict with the principles.”

“Hmmm.” Iceni lowered her hand and gazed at the nearest star display. “That’s not just Alliance propaganda, then? They do allow more… autonomy… for individual star systems?”

“That’s what Bradamont said. She admitted that under the pressure of the war, the Alliance central government gained a lot more power but insists that power is still limited.” He must have seen Iceni’s skepticism because Drakon added more. “And she is Alliance. You know how their officers are about that honor stuff and not lying.”

Iceni laughed. “I know how they go on about how honor is so important to them. I’m certain that some Alliance officers shade the truth a lot more than they admit to. But Bradamont does not seem to be one of those. She’s annoyingly honest in all matters. Well, if we’re not capable of enforcing some way of governing on other star systems, letting them do what they want as long as it doesn’t harm us or help the Syndicate might be a smart way to go. Most importantly, it is so different from Syndicate practice that it will defuse claims we’re trying to set ourselves up as a mini-Syndicate out here. Would you be upset if I expressed surprise that you thought of all this before I did?”

He smiled. “No. You’re a better CEO than I was in the sense of running a business. I didn’t think of it. Colonel Malin suggested we needed to think about it.”

“Colonel Malin?” She kept her tone of voice neutral as a welter of thoughts responded to that identification. “Colonel Malin appears to have many ideas.”

“He says he’s been thinking about things like this for a while,” Drakon said. “He didn’t think there would ever be a chance to do anything as long as the Syndicate remained too strong and the Alliance remained at war with us, but things happened.”

“Things happened,” Iceni agreed. “The old order has crashed and burned, and now…” Her voice trailed off as a memory fought to become clear.

Drakon waited, eyeing her, smart enough not to interrupt and chase away the image that Iceni was trying to recall. He did have some very good qualities even though sometimes their arguments were heated enough to start fires.

Fires. There it was. “A phoenix.”

“A what?”

“A phoenix,” Iceni said. “You said we need an image. I thought of this a while ago, that the phoenix might be useful. That’s why I didn’t name one of our heavy cruisers Phoenix. Do you know what a phoenix is?”

“Something that doesn’t actually exist,” Drakon said. “Wait a minute. Isn’t there a creature called a phoenix on a planet in Gladias Star System?”

“Don’t know, don’t care,” Iceni replied. “I’m talking about the real thing, which isn’t real.” He grinned at the joke as she continued. “It is very long-lived, a fire bird. Like a star. But that’s not all. When the phoenix is hurt, it regenerates. It can’t be defeated, you see? And when it dies, it burns up, then rises again from its own ashes. It can’t be beaten, it can’t be destroyed, but it’s not a monster.”

Drakon sat back, nodding. “Damn. That’s one hell of a strong symbol.”

“One hell of a strong symbol for whatever we’re building,” Iceni said. “Right? Something that will endure, something that will recover from any injury, something as powerful as the stars our worlds orbit.”

“The Phoenix Stars?” Drakon asked. “Rising from the ashes of the Syndicate?”

“Maybe.” Iceni nodded as well, to herself as well as in response to Drakon. “That leaves the exact nature of the association vague but projects a strong image, an image that has nothing in common with the Syndicate. But we don’t just need an abstract symbol. When were you planning on asking about the other thing?”

“The other thing?” Drakon shook his head. “What would that be?”

“The public face of our not-the-Syndicate-or-the-Alliance group of stars. You? Or me? Or both of us? What is the face of the Phoenix?”

He smiled slightly. “I was assuming both of us. Me to frighten people, and you to project that image of indestructible protection.”

She spent a long moment eyeing him, trying to figure out if Drakon had made a sarcastic jab at her. “Protection? That’s my image?”

“That’s what our citizens want from their president,” Drakon said. “And that’s how we want them to think, right? Protection from the sort of things that happened at Kane.”

That certainly sounded like a compliment, but Iceni still felt an odd irritation at the image. “Fine. But do you think I need you beside me to look frightening to our enemies?”

His smile grew but stayed enigmatic. “No. Your wrath can inspire plenty of fear, and for good reason.”

“I’m glad you realize that.” Her eyes narrowed as she thought. “There are advantages to being able to employ the old good cop/bad cop routine. I have no idea how long that tactic has been around, but I do know that it has endured because it works so often. I don’t want either of us locked into one of those roles, though. It might inspire someone to think knocking off one of us would cripple the other. We need to both look strong, but not menacing, to those inside our realm of control. We need to look strong and menacing to those outside.”

“Agreed.” Drakon gestured in the direction of the confinement cells. “Speaking of those inside and outside, Colonel Malin says CEO Boyens hasn’t been able to tell us much more.”

“No.” Iceni flipped her hand in the same direction, giving the gesture equal measures of disdain and aggression. “Boyens is spending his time trying to get information out of us instead of answering our questions. I think he’s trying to build the best picture he can of conditions here so he can decide which way to commit.”

“That doesn’t make much sense,” Drakon said. “If he’s already on the run from the Syndicate, he can’t just jump back into their laps.”

“That’s the question. Is he on the run from the Syndicate? Was he sent here with information we would consider valuable but that the Syndicate didn’t think would enable us to stop their flotilla?”

Drakon thought about that, his brow lowering. “Which would potentially give him a chance to get inside our operations again. Is Boyens their fail-safe if that flotilla didn’t succeed?”

“I asked you first.” Iceni glared at the interruption as an urgent tone sounded to indicate someone wanted to come into her office. “What is it?”

“An urgent communication,” Togo’s image replied without visible emotion.

Something he didn’t want anyone but her hearing, apparently. But Drakon had already heard the exchange and was watching her. “Come in,” she told Togo.

Togo entered, walking to stand beside Iceni’s desk, then waited until the door had once again sealed before replying. “It is Kahiki, Madam President.”

“Kahiki? It’s been quiet there.”

“It is quiet again if this communication is truthful,” Togo said. “Kahiki has overthrown Syndicate authority and requests our protection.”

“Kahiki,” Drakon muttered. “Have you been there?” he asked Iceni.

“No. There isn’t much there there, is there?”

“Depends what you’re talking about. There’s a lot of rocks and a lot of bugs. I was sent to inspect the ground defenses, remember? About six months before our revolt. There’s not a lot of good real estate at Kahiki. The only habitable world is a bit too close to the star, so it’s livable but hot, mostly desert with some decent-sized seas. At each pole there are swampy jungle areas that are cool enough for humans to manage though they’re not comfortable by any means.” He paused. “Let’s see. The total system population was about two hundred thousand. Two cities, one at each polar area, and a scattering of towns, including orbital installations at that planet and a couple of others. One brigade of regular Syndicate ground forces.”

“Jump points allowing access to only one other star system besides Midway,” Togo added, his voice actually sounding stiff at Drakon’s having provided some information to Iceni first.

Iceni glanced at Drakon to see if he had noticed and saw him looking back at her with a bland expression but sardonic amusement in his eyes. “Most importantly,” Drakon said, “Kahiki has some major research and development labs intended to support the Syndicate war effort and exploit anything that was ever recovered from the enigmas.”

“Ah, yes,” Iceni said. “I remember that now. Planet of the nerds, my predecessor called it. Supposedly analyzing everything known about the enigmas to determine what they were really like and how to beat them.”

“Yeah. They’d been working on that for forty years or so before Black Jack came back and found the real answers in a few months. I imagine they’re kind of sore about that.”

“I imagine that Syndicate CEOs were dictating the researchers’ every creative thought,” Iceni said dryly. “You know what a handicap that can be to actually discovering anything. So, a star system set up for research. They would be a liability at the moment if they want us to protect them, but a very valuable ally to have in the long run. How many snakes were at Kahiki?”

“Not too many,” Drakon said. “There was a satellite headquarters rather than a full system headquarters for the snakes.”

“Two hundred twenty ISS agents are listed as having been present at Kahiki according to captured records,” Togo added quickly.

“That is minimal,” Iceni said. “Or rather, was minimal. I doubt there are still two hundred twenty snakes alive there. What did Kahiki do with its snakes?” she asked Togo.

“Their message did not say.”

Iceni switched her attention back to Drakon. “Who was in charge of that brigade of ground forces?”

He frowned in thought again. “Sub-CEO… Santori. She struck me as very by-the-book, very cautious. It was easy to see that she browbeat her staff. They were scared of her but also sabotaging her in subtle ways.”

“Which came first? Santori’s treatment of them, or the sabotage?”

“I don’t know, but Santori didn’t impress me.” Drakon looked at Togo. “I’d like to see this message from Kahiki.”

Iceni nodded to Togo, who nodded back, then touched a control on his data pad.

The virtual window that appeared next to him showed a half dozen men and women seated at a conference table. Iceni watched and listened, paying less attention to the words than to the tones of voices and the body language of the six people who said they now ruled Kahiki. “What do you think?” she asked Drakon when it finished.

“The woman on the far left wasn’t Sub-CEO Santori. She was Santori’s executive officer.” Drakon rubbed his chin. “From what I remember, she struck me as unhappy but professional, trying to keep things running despite Santori’s lack of leadership. It looks like she’s in charge of the ground forces at Kahiki now.”

“We lost some sub-CEOs when we revolted,” Iceni commented.

“I imagine Santori took a short trip out of a high window courtesy of the executives she had been abusing. Commanders don’t need their troops to like them, but they’d damned well better give the troops grounds to respect them, or sooner or later those troops will find a way to even the score. Those guys who say they’re running Kahiki are definitely scared,” Drakon added.

“Yes. Either that, or they are very good actors.” Iceni tapped her lips with her forefinger as she studied the last image. “They said that what happened at Kane motivated them to revolt. CEO Boucher’s attempt at intimidation appears to be backfiring.”

“It’s plausible,” Drakon said. “But only because we’re here. You heard them. They’ve learned that we now have a battleship and a battle cruiser, and that we’ve repulsed more than one Syndicate attack, so they think we offer potential protection against the Syndicate’s doing to Kahiki what it did to Kane.”

She gave him a significant glance. “But can we offer protection? We barely managed to repel that last Syndicate attack on us.”

“Like you said, at the moment, they’re a liability.” Drakon gestured toward the star display. “But a limited liability. As your aide said, there’s only one other jump point to Kahiki besides us, and that’s to Tuvalu. There’s nothing at Tuvalu except a lot of space rocks and an automated emergency station in case anyone passing through needs help. There isn’t any simple way for the Syndicate to get an attack force to Kahiki. More importantly, the normal path for communications from Kahiki to Syndicate authorities was right here, through Midway. It’s going to take a while for the Syndicate to even learn that anything has happened at Kahiki.”

“You’re sure?” Iceni asked. “The Syndicate didn’t have alternate communications paths in use?”

“I inspected the defenses,” Drakon reminded her. “That included reviewing comm paths and contingency plans. In an emergency, if Midway fell to the enigmas, Kahiki was to hunker down and use any available spacecraft to send word through Tuvalu. With the lack of a dedicated courier ship or other interstellar craft, and the time involved in getting word out through Tuvalu, everybody at Kahiki knew what that really meant. You’re on your own, and don’t forget to kiss your butts good-bye.”

Iceni smiled, though the expression had more ferocity than humor to it. “How many times during the war with the Alliance was that the only contingency plan? More than I care to think about. But it’s true that if Midway had fallen to the enigmas, Kahiki would have been indefensible. The Syndicate would have had a lot of trouble doing anything to save or evacuate Kahiki even before Black Jack annihilated so many of the Syndicate’s mobile forces. All right. I am in favor of extending our protection to Kahiki, of inviting them to ally with us.”

Drakon sat hunched over slightly, his eyes looking off into the distance, then finally nodded. “I agree. But let’s keep the agreement secret for now, along with the fact that Kahiki has revolted. The longer it is before the Syndicate finds out, the longer it will be before they try to come up with a counterattack.”

“I’ll send a senior official to negotiate the deal. Something along the lines of what we agreed to with Taroa. Is that acceptable? Let me know which representative you want to send for the negotiations.”

Once again, Drakon spent a while thinking before answering. “Gwen, as long as the agreement is along the same framework as we used with Taroa, there’s no reason for me to insist on having someone looking over the shoulder of your representative.”

Iceni raised her eyebrows at him, surprised that Drakon had openly expressed that degree of trust in her. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of Togo reacting before he could cover it. Oddly enough, he had reacted at the start of Drakon’s statement, not at the end.

Togo had reacted when Drakon called her Gwen.

What had she seen in Togo in that brief, unguarded moment? Surprise? Worry? Anger? It was impossible to tell. “That is all,” she told Togo.

She waited until he had left, then pointed to Ulindi on the star display. “Have you heard anything more about that situation?”

“No,” Drakon said.

“Has… your agent… arrived there yet?”

“She should be getting there anytime now,” Drakon said. “But I don’t know exactly how she was planning on sneaking into Ulindi, so I don’t know exactly when she’ll be there.”

“You obviously still trust Colonel Morgan a great deal,” Iceni said, hearing the coldness entering her voice.

Drakon, judging from the grimace he made, heard it, too. “In certain matters, I still do. She’s very skilled at this sort of thing.”

“I have heard frequent references to her skills,” Iceni said, wondering if frost was forming on her words. “But in most cases only the vaguest references to where and how she acquired such skills.”

“I don’t know all of the particulars,” Drakon said, meeting her iciness with a steady gaze. “She had many of those skills when I first met her, so she gained them young. There are things none of us who grew up in the Syndicate system talk about. Colonel Morgan has her share of those.”

“Colonel Morgan has too many secrets.”

“We’re in agreement on that. I’m using her skills to help us with Ulindi. Don’t think that means I still trust her in other matters.”

After Drakon had left, Iceni scowled at the star display. It would simplify things immensely if Morgan died on Ulindi, no matter how that might complicate Drakon’s task. When it comes to double-dealing and death, I have no trouble believing that witch started learning her trade young. I wonder just how young she was.

Executive Fifth Class Roh Morgan, eighteen years old and recently promoted from Line Worker Fourth Class, leaned back and smiled at the man in the pilot’s seat. She slowly extended one leg toward Executive First Class Jonis, showing off not only the leg itself but also the boot she was wearing.

Jonis smiled, too, but at the boot, not at her. “Nice work, Roh.”

“I got everything you wanted,” Morgan said. “Her boots, some skin flakes, a few other subtle pieces of evidence to salt the crime scene.”

“Excellent.” Putting the aircraft on autopilot, he extended a hand toward Morgan. “The stealth gear.”

She straightened a bit, reaching into a large pocket in her vest, and brought out an assortment of bracelets, earrings, and rings. “This is the latest gear in the Internal Security Service’s inventory? You’d think the ISS would be prepared to spot its being used.”

“I told you they wouldn’t.” He held the hand out again, this time demandingly. “There’s always a slight lag between new stealth gear being introduced and defensive sensors being reprogrammed to spot signs of the new gear.”

Morgan dropped the jewelry into Jonis’s hand. “So it will be useless soon.”

“Not useless.” Jonis, at least two decades older than Morgan, took on the lecturing tone he enjoyed using with her. “It is still effective. But a smart agent never depends on equipment that can be detected or found, no matter how well disguised it is. If you get caught with gear of this nature, it’s very hard to claim you’re not guilty of something. The lessons I gave you on avoiding attention from my fellow agents are far more valuable in the long run than toys like this. And unlike technical devices, other methods to avoid being noticed don’t become obsolete or need upgrades.” He leered at her. “Once we finish planting this evidence, and Sub-CEO Tarranavi gets nailed for crimes against the Syndicate, I can give you a lot of other lessons of a more personal nature. You know, a lot of other men wouldn’t have waited until now for that kind of payoff in exchange for their… guidance.”

Morgan smiled. “You know the wait will be worth it.”

“Yes. I think it will.” He laughed again. “After that, as my protégé, you can do a lot of good service as an undercover agent for the ISS and earn the rewards that come with that.”

“It sounds like I’ll be getting lots of… rewards as your protégé,” Morgan purred. “Why do you hate Tarranavi so much? Why do you want her arrested?”

“Arrested? That’s the least of it. She’ll be executed for sure. But I don’t hate her. I don’t care about her at all. She’s in the way,” Jonis explained matter-of-factly. “I want her job, Tarranavi shows no signs of leaving it or making the kind of real mistake I could exploit, so I’m giving her a nudge off the edge of the cliff, so I can continue on my own way upward. Speaking of mistakes, it’s never a good idea to ask why you’re carrying out a mission. Just do it and let your bosses worry about the reasons.” He laughed as if he had just said something funny.

Morgan laughed, too. She had no trouble putting real amusement into the laugh despite the loathing that filled her as she looked at Jonis. She resisted glancing toward the control panel, knowing that any second now…

A warning light began blinking on the control console, accompanied by an urgent beeping tone. Startled, Executive Jonis turned his head to look at it.

Roh had already stiffened her hand. Her shoulder pivoted as her arm shot out and drove the hand with deadly accuracy into just the right spot on Jonis’s neck. His spine cracked, then his head slammed into the side of the cockpit under the force of the blow.

Sighing, Roh massaged her hand, smiling at the blank expression fixed on Jonis’s dead face. “Did you really think I was that young and naïve? That I didn’t know that after you’d had all the fun with me you wanted, you were going to kill me so I couldn’t betray you for setting up Tarranavi? Did you really believe that I wanted to be a snake like you, you scum? Did you forget I’d had commando training and knew how to kill with my bare hands? I guess you did, on all counts. Too bad for you.”

Dropping the aircraft low, she set it on course toward the nearby mountains, carefully sprinkling the skin flakes from Tarranavi in the cockpit. “I already planted some other evidence of Tarranavi’s involvement in the sabotage I did to this aircraft’s safety systems,” she told Jonis. “That sabotage is what set off the alarm that distracted you for the second I needed. What? Aren’t you pleased at how well I learned your lessons? Oh, that’s right, you’re dead. But it will look like you died when this aircraft hits those mountains and the collision-protection equipment fails to deploy. Poor little snake, his neck broken in the impact! And all the evidence will point to another snake’s being responsible.”

Hauling out the low-altitude parachute she had brought along, Roh Morgan cast a regretful eye on the stealth gear she had returned to Jonis, the jewelry having fallen from his limp hand to lie sparkling on the floor of the cockpit. “Thanks for warning me how your fellow snakes can trace that stuff,” she told Jonis cheerfully. “Otherwise, I probably would have tried to take it. Hey, did you notice that I’m wearing skin gloves so none of my skin flakes or prints will show up on that gear or in this aircraft? No? Too bad. Good-bye, snake.”

She popped the side door, slid out of the cockpit, felt the chute deploy in the moments before reaching the ground, then rolled into a landing.

A powder sprinkled onto the chute caused it to shrivel into fragments. The snakes would find those fragments, of course, but the only evidence they would have as to who had used the chute would be the footprints from Sub-CEO Tarranavi’s boots, which were on Morgan’s feet.

Morgan disposed of the boots at her first stop, changing into other boots. Over the next twenty kilometers, she changed footwear several more times, using a dozen different methods to throw off any possible tracking or pursuit through open country, then the city. By the time she reached the military barracks where she was stuck, waiting for someone to accept her into a unit, she had thoroughly muddled her trail.

The sub-CEO running the barracks had made no secret of her own eagerness to see Morgan shunted off to some cannon-fodder unit where the combat life expectation of an Executive Fifth Class would be measured in minutes. But Morgan had managed to throw up a series of obstacles that had so far prevented her assignment to that kind of unit. Increasingly, Morgan realized her delaying tactics were only postponing the inevitable. No other kind of unit wanted her. No one else wanted her for any other purpose. No one had ever wanted her. So such a suicidal assignment would probably be her fate despite the medical assessment that had cleared her for duty. Morgan smiled at the sub-CEO’s office as she passed it, thinking that she had already survived one suicide mission and wondering if she could eliminate any more snakes or equally poisonous executives and CEOs before being shipped out.

Not that she would die even then, despite every attempt to kill her. Morgan somehow knew that she was destined for something big, some greatness, even though everyone was against her. She hadn’t died on that suicide mission into enigma space. She knew that the person who had come back wasn’t the Roh Morgan who had been sent on the mission. She had changed, become much more than before. She felt that. And the proof of her belief was that no one had ever come back from enigma-occupied space. Except her. That meant there must be a reason, a big reason, why she hadn’t died. She was learning more every day, gaining the knowledge of her victims before sending them to the fates they deserved, preparing herself for whatever came next.

Her comm pad buzzed urgently. Morgan checked it, read the message, then had to pause to read it again.

Someone had agreed to take her as a junior executive in their combat unit. Someone had believed in her, despite her youth and her brief, checkered past. CEO Artur Drakon. “This officer deserves a chance,” Drakon had written.

Morgan didn’t know who Drakon was. But as she looked at the message, a totally unexpected event, she knew he must be the one person in this dark, vicious universe who was on Morgan’s side, who might not only deserve her loyalty but be the one worthy of helping her fulfill her own still-dimly-seen destiny.

Colonel Roh Morgan, part of the crowd of rumpled and weary travelers leaving the tramp freighter which had brought them to Ulindi Star System, approached the security checkpoint at the docking facility orbiting Ulindi’s primary world.

The checkpoint was an impressive one, with at least twenty snakes scrutinizing every person going through the checkpoint and ten ground forces soldiers in full battle armor backing them up. Clearly visible automated sensors and weaponry tracked the movements of those approaching the checkpoint, and it was a given that more sensors and weaponry were concealed in the walls and ceiling. Not just a security checkpoint, it was a strongpoint, well defended enough to hold off a serious attack.

A young man next to Morgan in the crowd muttered to himself as he stared aghast at the menacing snakes. “I wish I had one of those gadgets that make you invisible.”

Idiot, she thought. Idiot to say that out loud, where snake sensors would pick it up, pinpoint the source, and ensure that the young worker received extra attention during the security screening. And idiot to think any piece of equipment could make you invisible in this kind of setting, where the snakes were searching with all of their equipment and skill for enemy agents and threats.

Searching for someone pretty much like Roh Morgan, when you got right down to it.

Morgan walked with the crowd toward the checkpoint.