Perilous Shield

Chapter Seven

“Come to full-combat alert twenty minutes before we arrive at Midway,” Marphissa ordered.

Kapitan Toirac eyed her worriedly. They were in Marphissa’s stateroom, which was nothing luxurious on a heavy cruiser but large enough for two people without feeling claustrophobic. “We’re going to drop into the lap of the Syndicate flotilla, and we’ll be moving at only point zero two light speed in normal space.”

“That’s the idea. We want them to chase us. The moment we arrive at the gate, command of the Manticore will temporarily shift to Kapitan Bascare.”

“What? Asima— Excuse me, Kommodor, I don’t even know who this Bascare is.”

“You’ll find out.” Marphissa couldn’t yet tell Toirac that “Bascare” was actually Alliance Fleet Captain Bradamont, but she unbent enough to explain more. “Trust me. These are the orders of President Iceni, to carry out an operation planned by her. But we have to do our part.”

“I don’t know.” Toirac looked around, uncertainty written all over his expression and posture. It had become an all-too-familiar look for him, whether in private or on the bridge.

Marphissa licked her lips, trying to find the right words. “Ygor, we’ve known each other for a while. I recommended you for command of this ship.”

“You did? Why didn’t you—”

“Wait.” She fixed him with a hard look. “You’ve got the skills to run this ship, but you’re not demonstrating the strength to command it. You’re slow, you hesitate, you allow your specialists and junior officers to decide things that you should be deciding. It’s one thing to delegate some authority and responsibility. I believe in the wisdom of that, contrary to the teachings of the Syndicate. But you can go too far. Delegation is one thing. Effectively ceding command decisions to your subordinates is another.”

Kapitan Toirac scowled, looking away. “I’m doing my best. This is very difficult. I’m trying to avoid the mistakes of the Syndicate.”

“Fine; you don’t want to run the ship with an iron hand. I understand that. But you’re going too far in the other direction. You can’t command this ship unless you command it! I will back you, Ygor. I will give you what advice I can. I know Kapitan-Leytenant Kontos has been speaking to you, trying to help. But he says you’re not listening.”

“Kontos! A few weeks ago, he was a subexecutive! I know more about being in charge than he does.”

“He’s good, Ygor. Kontos knows how to do things so that subordinates look to him as a leader. You need to cultivate the same traits, the same approach to command—”

“If you’re so unhappy with me,” Toirac grumbled, “why not just drop the hammer?”

“Because I want to help you succeed,” Marphissa insisted, trying not to let Toirac’s behavior aggravate her too much.

“Tearing me down is not helping me.”

“Have you heard anything that I’ve said? Have you noticed how your officers and specialists are acting toward you and around you?”

Toirac’s mouth set stubbornly. “If you’re so unhappy with me, maybe this ship would be better off with another commanding officer.”

She glared at him. “I don’t want that, but since you raised the topic I have no choice but to warn you that unless you start acting like the commanding officer of Manticore, I will have no choice but to recommend that you be replaced.”

He stared at her, the gaze turning dark. “It didn’t take long, did it, Asima? All that talk of things being different now, but once you got your hands on power, you’re just another Sub-CEO trying to suck up to her CEO—”

Marphissa leaped to her feet, her mind filled with anger. “I will pretend those last words were not said! Listen to yourself! I am trying to offer you help, and you’re answering me with insults! If I were being a typical Sub-CEO I would’ve relieved you of command weeks ago! But I’ve been waiting. Waiting to see you assert yourself.”

Toirac avoided her eyes. “Yes, Kommodor.”

“Damn you, Ygor. Are you trying to back me into a corner?”

“The Kommodor can act as she sees fit. I understand and will comply.”

“Get out of here!” Marphissa nearly yelled, worried that she would say something far worse if Toirac continued to display attitude rather than intelligence.

He saluted, the gesture stiff and formal, then left, only the hatch closing mechanism preventing it from slamming under the force of Toirac’s push.

She sat down, trying to control her anger. I tried. And he answers me with “I understand and will comply,” as if I really am some Syndicate thug abusing her authority. It’s a lot easier to complain about the boss than to be the boss. But if Toirac can’t tell the difference between me and a Syndicate bootlicker, he’s not just weak, he’s also a fool.

Don’t decide now. You’re too angry. But Toirac had better show me a lot better performance and do it fast.

“Kommodor?” The question was accompanied by a knock on her hatch.

Marphissa looked up, calming herself. “Enter.”

Bradamont eyed her from the hatch. “Is everything all right?” Behind her, Kontos was looking up and down the passageway, keeping an eye out for trouble. Bradamont and Kontos were already in survival suits, prepared for combat.

Both Kontos and Marphissa had noticed that the Alliance officer focused a lot on the ship, on the state of equipment, cleanliness, and other material issues, but didn’t seem to worry about the crew. Bradamont paid attention to the crew, displaying unmistakable interest in them and their jobs, but she didn’t appear to worry about them as a potential source of danger. The implications of that attitude, what it might say about the Alliance fleet versus Syndicate practices that still haunted this ship, bothered Marphissa a great deal.

“Personnel issues,” Marphissa explained. “We’re half an hour from arrival, aren’t we? I need to focus on that. We’re going to have to do everything just right.”

“It’s nothing you can’t handle,” Bradamont said.

“You’re going to be in temporary command. You have to call the maneuvers. I’m sure that’s what President Iceni wants.” Marphissa managed a smile. “Besides, I want to watch you maneuver a ship in combat.”

“I wish to watch that as well,” Kontos offered.

“Are you sure your crew will be all right when they find out who I am?”

“They know me. They believe in the President. They also know Kapitan-Leytenant Kontos by reputation. And… they’re conditioned by training to do as they’re told. Those things should keep the crew from blowing up until we get the job done.”

Marphissa quickly pulled on her own survival suit, then led the way to the bridge, taking her seat next to a visibly sulking Kapitan Toirac, who had not yet donned a suit himself. The specialists on watch took in the survival suits on her, Bradamont, and Kontos, and unobtrusively began passing the word to their friends in other parts of the ship that something was up. Two of the specialists glanced Toirac’s way, said something to each other in very low voices, and grinned.

Marphissa suppressed a sigh, mentally running through candidates to replace Toirac. Kapitan-Leytenant Diaz came quickly to mind. As second-in-command of Manticore, he had done his best to support Toirac and had not undermined him in any way that Marphissa was aware of. Diaz lacked apparent ambition, which could foretell problems if he was promoted above his comfort zone, but his actions commended him.

Kontos, standing at the back of the bridge next to Bradamont, cleared his throat.

Marphissa checked the time. “Kapitan, it is nineteen minutes until we arrive at Midway.”

Toirac ignored her.

Fine. You’re gone. But I won’t do it formally until after this operation is over. We don’t need the disruption a change of command could cause when we’re this close to action. “Bring Manticore to full-combat readiness,” Marphissa ordered the specialists on the bridge.

“Yes, Kommodor!”

The specialists popped open lockers near their watch stations and pulled on their own survival suits, outfits that were far inferior to the battle armor worn by ground forces but provided some protection from shrapnel and small arms as well as providing oxygen if the ship was holed by the enemy. The helmets stayed open, unpressurized hoods draped loosely behind their shoulders, to conserve the suits’ life support until it was needed. Readiness reports flowed in, green markers popping up on Marphissa’s display as weapons, sensors, shields, and propulsion as well as a host of other less critical areas reported full-combat status.

Kapitan Toirac, moving with obvious slowness, took out his own emergency suit and put it on as well.

“The ship is at full-combat readiness, Kommodor,” the senior specialist reported.

“Five minutes. You can do better,” Marphissa said. “Next time, make it four. Everyone on the bridge, listen. The moment Manticore leaves the hypernet and arrives at Midway, Kapitan Bascare will become temporary commanding officer of this ship. You will respond to her every order as if it were mine, regardless of what happens. Is that clearly understood? There must be no hesitation, no questions.”

The specialists all nodded and saluted. The seniormost specialist smiled as he did so. “I understand and will comply, Kommodor.” But he gave the old words of subservience an aura of pride that made Marphissa smile in return.

Bradamont came to stand beside Marphissa.

Kontos caught Marphissa’s eye and tilted an inquiring eye toward Toirac. She shook her head and mouthed “later” in reply.

Marphissa readied a command for Manticore’s identification broadcast, ensuring that the broadcast was disabled and wouldn’t send anything until she activated it. The sensors in CEO Boyens’s flotilla would know Manticore without any official ID being broadcast. They had seen her hull too many times and knew every unique feature and mark it had accumulated in space. But the identification contained in the broadcast this time would give them a very unpleasant surprise.

Five minutes. “Everyone listen,” Marphissa said. “If Kapitan Bascare sends a message, she will use a different name and rank. She is here by personal order of President Iceni. Do not let that name and rank cause you to hesitate. Is that clear?”

Once again, everyone nodded. Everyone but Kapitan Toirac.

“Disable main propulsion unit two,” Marphissa ordered. “Ensure it does not light off when maneuvering orders are given, not until you are told to reactivate it.”

“Yes, Kommodor,” the engineering specialist said. “Deactivating main propulsion unit two. Unit two is deactivated.”

Marphissa looked at Bradamont. “Do you need this seat?”

“No. The weapons are yours. I can give whatever maneuvering commands are needed while standing here.”

One minute. “Shields at maximum, all weapons ready,” Marphissa said to Bradamont.

Kontos hadn’t moved, but his eyes were locked on Bradamont.

They exited the gate at Midway, the nothing outside of Manticore abruptly being replaced by countless stars and endless space. “I have command,” Bradamont announced. “Come starboard one seven zero degrees, down two zero degrees, maximum acceleration on main propulsion units one, three, and four.”

Manticore swung around and accelerated, her vector altering to head for the other ships of the Midway Flotilla, five light-minutes away.

“Boyens is still here,” Marphissa observed, as her display updated.

Bradamont nodded and pointed to another area relatively close to the hypernet gate. When they had left, the entire Alliance fleet had been two light-hours from the gate, but now a substantial force of battle cruisers and other warships orbited only ten light-minutes away.

“The Syndicate flotilla is maneuvering,” the senior specialist announced. “Heavy cruisers and Hunter-Killers. They’re coming around to an intercept.”

Bradamont nodded again. “When will they come within weapons range of us?”

The specialists exchanged glances. “We were not moving fast coming out of the gate, Kapitan Bascare, and with one propulsion unit disabled, we are accelerating at less than an optimum rate. The Syndicate heavy cruisers will be within missile range in seventeen minutes.”

“Good. How long will it take to bring main propulsion unit two back online?”

“Five seconds, Kapitan. Then another five seconds for it to achieve full thrust.” The specialist gave her a quizzical glance, wondering why an officer of such rank did not know such basic information about a ship built by the Syndicate Worlds. They had seen Kapitan Bascare practicing maneuvering Manticore during some of the transits through star systems while escorting the other cruiser and knew from that she was experienced in handling ships, making her lack of knowledge all the more puzzling.

Bradamont smiled slightly. “Sixteen minutes,” she told Marphissa.

Her confidence was so palpable that the crew, despite their nervousness as the Syndicate pursuit force lunged toward them, waited without question as the bubble on their displays marking missile-engagement range for the Syndicate warships drew steadily closer to Manticore.

“The Alliance ships are moving! They are… heading toward the Syndicate flotilla!” The operations specialist blinked at her display in disbelief, then grinned. “They are coming to help us? Black Jack is coming!”

Not the Alliance, Marphissa noted. Black Jack. She would remember that.

An alert pulsed on the displays, warning that the Syndicate warships would be within missile range in one minute.

“Steady,” Bradamont said. “Engineering, I will order main propulsion unit two back online in one minute and ten seconds. Is that understood? Wait for the command.”

“Yes, Kapitan.”

Marphissa glanced at Bradamont. “Now?”

“Forty seconds,” Bradamont replied. “The information has to reach the Syndic warships too late for them to change their actions.”

Exactly forty seconds later, Marphissa tapped a control. Manticore’s identification broadcast lit off, telling the universe that the warship was—

“Kommodor?” the communications specialist asked, bewildered. “Our unit identification says we are… Alliance.”

“Alliance-flagged,” Marphissa said. “Not the same thing. Listen to Kapitan Bascare.”

“Activate main propulsion unit two, full thrust,” Bradamont ordered, then tapped Marphissa’s comm controls. “Units of the Syndicate Worlds, this is Captain Bradamont of the Alliance fleet, commanding a chartered warship on official Alliance business. You are to cease threatening activity immediately.”

“Missiles have launched!” The warning came just as Bradamont finished speaking. Seconds later, Manticore lurched in response to a significant increase in her acceleration, the inertial dampers not quite masking the effects of propulsion unit two coming on line at full power.

Then Bradamont’s last words struck home and everyone on the bridge but Kontos and Marphissa stared at her in disbelief. “Stand by!” Kontos said sharply, bringing everyone’s attention back to their duties.

There were twenty-four missiles inbound. Their targeting solutions had been badly thrown off by the sudden increase in Manticore’s acceleration, but the missiles’ targeting systems could compensate for that to some extent. “Come port one four degrees,” Bradamont ordered. “Down six degrees.”

“The Midway Flotilla is altering vectors,” the operations specialist said. “They are on an intercept with the Syndicate heavy cruisers pursuing us, Kapi— Kapitan… Bascare.”

Marphissa, her gaze darting from one point on her display to the next, noticed that Bradamont’s small vector change had placed the pursuing missiles into a stern chase, coming in from directly behind Manticore. That meant the relative speed of the missiles had been reduced as much as possible, making them easier targets. A small thing, but an important thing.

“Wait!” Kapitan Toirac, glaring at Bradamont, had started up from his seat. “We can’t accept orders from this—”

“Shut up!” Marphissa snapped, her patience with her former friend exhausted.

“I will not—”

But Toirac did stop speaking, his face rigid. Marphissa leaned back enough to see that Kontos had drawn his sidearm and had the barrel planted on Kapitan Toirac’s spine. At that range, Toirac’s survival suit wouldn’t stop a shot, and Toirac knew it. Sometimes the old ways may be the best.

“Incoming,” Bradamont prodded, her eyes turned away from the small tableau. She gave no sign of what she thought of Syndicate command procedures.

But Bradamont probably was not impressed. Angrily refocusing on the engagement, Marphissa authorized the hell-lance weapons that faced aft to open fire, watching as the particle beams lashed out at the oncoming missiles. Two, then three, then four missiles were knocked out.

That left twenty.

Bradamont had been watching the missiles, counting the time since their launch, watching the display to see remaining endurance data based on the precise capabilities of the Syndicate missiles. “It’s a lot easier to estimate this when you know exactly what the missiles can do,” she commented to Marphissa. “All main propulsion units to zero thrust,” she ordered.

Marphissa and Kontos both swiveled to look at the engineering specialist, but he had already moved to implement the command. “All main propulsion units at zero, Kapitan.”

“Maneuvering thrusters pitch up one seven eight degrees.”

The thrusters fired, pushing Manticore’s bow up and over until the bow pointed back down the opposite way the ship was still traveling. With her heaviest armament now facing the oncoming missiles, Manticore’s hell lances knocked out several more.

“All main propulsion units at maximum,” Bradamont ordered.

The engineering specialist hesitated only a fraction of a second. “All units at maximum.”

Manticore moaned as pressure on her hull built rapidly. Her main propulsion, facing in the direction the ship was still going stern first, was braking her velocity at a rate that caused danger warnings to pop up on displays. Those not seated had to brace themselves as the forces of deceleration leaked past the overloaded inertial dampers.

“How long can she hold it?” Bradamont murmured to Marphissa.

Marphissa studied the hull-stress readings climbing quickly into red zones. “Ten seconds at this rate. No more.”

“That’s enough.”

The missiles, accelerating for all they were worth for the point where Manticore would have been if she had kept accelerating all out, now found themselves having to swing onto much shorter intercepts as Manticore decelerated as quickly as the heavy cruiser could. The turns required of the missiles to do that were extremely tight. Far too tight for the structure of the missiles to withstand in most cases. As the missiles slewed about, many of them broke apart under the stress.

Six survived, but their radical maneuvers had brought them, for a few crucial seconds, to nearly a standstill relative to Manticore.

Hell lances stabbed out again, nailing every surviving missile.

“Reduce thrust on all main propulsion units to two-thirds,” Bradamont ordered. The strain on Manticore eased immediately, the stress warnings hesitating before they began shading back down into safe territory.

“All of the Syndicate ships are changing vectors,” the operations specialist said. “Kapitan, the Syndicate flotilla is heading for the hypernet gate.”

“A smart move,” Marphissa remarked, feeling satisfaction that shaded into disappointment. The heavy cruisers pursuing Manticore had veered off and were moving quickly to join up with the Syndicate battleship once more. “Unfortunately. They’re not staying to fight.”

The Alliance warships were storming toward the Syndicate warships but, according to the projections on her display, would not get within weapons range before the Syndicate flotilla could use the gate to escape. “Why couldn’t Black Jack catch them?” Marphissa muttered to Bradamont.

“The plan was to get rid of the flotilla,” Bradamont murmured back. “With or without actual fighting. We successfully tricked Boyens’s ships into firing onto an Alliance-flagged warship, giving Admiral Geary grounds for shooting back. But if CEO Boyens chooses to avoid contact, Admiral Geary can’t force it. This trick will force the Syndicate Worlds’ flotilla to leave, though.”

Still feeling disgruntled, Marphissa checked the track on the rest of the Midway Flotilla, which was coming on a slightly curving intercept aimed at the heavy cruisers hastening back to the Syndicate battleship. The odds in a heavy cruiser–to–heavy cruiser fight hadn’t gotten any better. “This is Kommodor Marphissa to the Midway Flotilla. Ensure that you remain out of range of the Syndicate weapons unless one of the Syndicate ships tries to defect to us.”

“What are the chances of that?” Bradamont asked as she altered Manticore’s vector again, bringing the ship on track to join up with the rest of the Midway Flotilla.

“They could be good,” Marphissa said. “It depends on how many snakes are aboard each ship, how alert they are, how loyal to the Syndicate the officers and crew are, and a lot of luck. But if the Syndicate flotilla is going to use the hypernet gate, there’s little time left for anyone to try a mutiny.”

“Kommodor—!” the communications specialist began, then stopped abruptly, looking puzzled.

Marphissa had barely begun to look that way when an urgent alert on her display began pulsing near the Syndicate battleship. “A Syndicate light cruiser just blew up.” It took her a moment to realize that she had said those words. “What happened?”

“There has been no firing from the Syndicate flotilla except the missiles launched at us,” the operations specialist confirmed.

“From the signature of the explosion,” the engineering specialist said, “it was a power-core overload. There were no precursors, no warning signs. It just overloaded.”

“How can that happen?” Marphissa demanded. “There are safety interlocks, physical and in the software. There are passwords, there are sequences that must be followed, there are automatic corrective measures. How could a power core overload without any warning?”

“Kommodor,” the communications specialist said, her voice subdued. “I think I know. Just before the light cruiser exploded, we received a message broadcast toward us by directional beam. The message ID tagged it as from CL-347. All I heard was freedom or—and then it cut off.”

Marphissa covered her face with one hand, aware of the silence that had fallen on the bridge. She took a long moment to compose herself, then lowered the hand and looked around. “The snakes have a new trick. Or the Syndicate CEOs. They would rather destroy a ship than let the crew escape.” There was no need to drive the point home. Everyone already hated the snakes and the bosses. This incident would only reinforce their determination to fight to the death rather than surrender.

“The Syndicate flotilla has entered the hypernet gate,” the operations specialist said. “The star system is free of Syndicate military forces.”

Bradamont nodded to acknowledge the report. “The operation is complete.” Her voice sounded subdued as well, the death of the light cruiser having cast a pall over any desire to celebrate. “Kommodor, to whom do I return command of Manticore? You or… ?”

Kapitan Toirac stiffened at the question but stayed silent. Kontos, standing behind him, had holstered his sidearm, but Toirac couldn’t see that.

Perhaps, despite everything that had come before, Marphissa would have hesitated to take the final step. But not after watching that light cruiser be destroyed. Her mood left no room for further tolerance of someone who could not, would not, fulfill his responsibilities.

She tapped an internal comm control. “Kapitan-Leytenant Diaz, come to the bridge.”

It only took a little more than a minute, but seemed far longer, before Diaz appeared. “Yes, Kommodor?”

This was not a moment she had sought. Marphissa had to steel herself as she stood up to face Diaz. “Kapitan Toirac, for failure to carry out your responsibilities you are relieved of command and of all duties. Kapitan-Leytenant Diaz, you are promoted to Kapitan and will assume command of Manticore effective immediately.”

Diaz, his expression aghast, then saddened, glanced toward Toirac. He nodded and saluted. “Yes, Kommodor.”

“Kapitan Toirac, you are confined to quarters,” Marphissa said, fighting to keep her voice from quavering. Why did you force me to do this?

Toirac got up and stomped off the bridge without a salute or other acknowledgment of Marphissa.

“I’ll make sure he gets there without any… difficulties,” Kontos said. “By your leave, Kommodor.”

“Yes. Go.” She watched Kontos go quickly after Toirac to make sure he didn’t attempt any mischief, then faced Diaz again. “You know why I took this action. Take command of this ship, Kapitan Diaz.”

“I will.” Diaz glanced at Bradamont.

“I relinquish command to Kapitan Diaz,” Bradamont said.

“Thank you, Kapitan… Bascare?”

“Bradamont. I am Captain Bradamont.”

Marphissa placed one hand on her shoulder. “She is Black Jack’s, sent to assist President Iceni and aid us in getting rid of the Syndicate flotilla. Captain Bradamont will be leaving Manticore soon, but she will remain in this star system when Black Jack’s fleet leaves because Black Jack wants everyone to know that he supports the freedom of Midway Star System.”

She could feel emotions on the bridge wavering.

“An Alliance officer?” Diaz asked, doubtful.

“One of Black Jack’s officers,” Marphissa corrected, her voice firm. “One of his battle cruiser commanders.” They all understood the significance of that, their expressions taking on grudging respect.

“Kommodor,” the senior specialist asked, his voice hesitant, “she will not command us?”

“No. It was necessary this time, to place the Syndicate flotilla in the position of having fired on a ship under Alliance charter and with an Alliance officer in temporary command. That gave Black Jack justification to destroy the Syndicate flotilla, which unfortunately escaped. But she is not here to command us. Captain Bradamont is here to mark Black Jack’s commitment to our freedom.”

“Why would Black Jack require justification for whatever he wanted to do?” the operations specialist asked.

Marphissa almost snapped back at the bold question, but Bradamont forestalled her. “Because Admiral Geary, the man you call Black Jack, is not a Syndicate Worlds CEO. He does not do whatever he wants. He follows the law.”

That impressed them. They were still wary, but the worker specialists looked at Marphissa and nodded, then the senior specialist stood and saluted. “We understand, Kommodor.”

As Marphissa and Bradamont left the bridge, Bradamont sighed. “I get the feeling I’d better stay confined to my quarters as well.”

“I’m sorry, but you’re right. It will be safer.”

“I can’t complain. If there were a Syndic officer on an Alliance warship, she or he would face the same attitudes.”

“I’ll find out whether President Iceni wants you picked up by a freighter on a regular supply run or sent on a Hunter-Killer or other warship.” Marphissa said. “Until then, I’ll post a guard outside your stateroom. I hope you understand.”

“You’d better post a guard at that Kapitan’s stateroom as well,” Bradamont said.

“I’m sorry you saw that.” Marphissa made a muddled gesture, half-angry and half-frustrated. “Why did he make it so hard?”

“They always do,” Bradamont commiserated. “The ones who can’t do their jobs always make everything as hard as possible for everyone else as well.”

“He was my friend.”

“Ouch. You got promoted pretty fast, didn’t you? Welcome to the joys of higher rank. Being willing to do what you have to do, but don’t want to do, is a big part of it. Some people can handle that. Some can’t.”

Marphissa grimaced. “I’ll miss you, Captain. Good luck once you leave Manticore.”

“You’ll see me again, Kommodor. We’ll need to convince your bosses to let you recover some prisoners of war even though it will mean sending some of your warships a long ways away. That’s going to be a harder sell now. Admiral Geary is going to be leaving this star system soon since the Syndic flotilla has been chased off, so Midway will be on its own again as far as defenses go.”

“President Iceni, we have encountered an unusual situation. We can’t access the hypernet gates at Indras, Praja, Kachin, or Taniwah,” Black Jack said. “CEO Boyens warned that the Syndicate government would make our journey back harder than we hoped, but we didn’t expect that they would drop the Syndicate Worlds’ hypernet system. According to our hypernet key, the only gate now accessible is at Sobek.”

Drakon, who had come to the command center to watch the departure of Geary’s fleet, shook his head in disbelief at the message. “Prime dropped almost every hypernet gate? That will cripple what’s left of the Syndicate Worlds. The economic impact alone will be huge, but it will also seriously hinder its ability to shift military forces to deal with internal and external threats. Did they kill their chances to hold some stars together in the Syndicate Worlds just to make Black Jack’s journey home more difficult?”

“It does seem like tearing your hair out to avoid going bald,” Iceni agreed. She knew she had been moody lately and had been trying to shake it. But Boyens had escaped instead of having his flotilla destroyed. Black Jack’s fleet was leaving, taking with it all the protection for Midway Star System that such a mass of warships could provide. There was at least one snake agent still hidden close enough to plant an agent inside the planetary command center. On top of all that, she had found herself increasingly bothered by a vague sense that there were other plans under way, involving people and events she wasn’t even aware of, like the slow movements of continents that you did not feel except when earthquakes suddenly and devastatingly brought it all to your attention.

And now this.

“Where is Sobek?” Iceni asked, her brow furrowed with concern. The answer popped up on the display, a window showing a region of space much closer to the Alliance. “Why would Sobek’s gate be spared?”

“It doesn’t make a lot of sense,” Drakon said. “Maybe Prime ordered it and something went wrong at Sobek, so its gate didn’t collapse as ordered.”

“But that doesn’t make sense! Prime ordering the elimination of their own hypernet? Why not just commit suicide outright?” She lowered her head, fighting for control with an effort she knew must be obvious to those around her. “Do you have any idea what impact this will have on us? It means our gate has become nearly useless.”

“We still have all the jump points,” Drakon pointed out.

“Yes. Relatively speaking, that will leave us with an advantage, but… damn them.”

“Could Black Jack be lying about this?”

“Why would he? The instant another ship showed up from another gate, it would tell us he had lied. Togo, I want our techs checking that gate. I want a full, remote diagnostic and a check of accessible gates using our monitoring software.”

“Yes, Madam President.” Togo paused in a listening attitude, one hand to the phone relay in his ear. “I had already ordered our technicians here to check on the remote status signals from the gate. They indicate no problems with the functioning of the gate.”

“If there’s no problem with our gate, then all of those other gates really are gone!” Iceni said. “Get a ship out there. I want techs checking that gate in person, not remotely. Boyens was near that gate a long time. Maybe he managed to sneak something onto the gate-control mechanisms that is producing this problem.”

“In theory,” Togo said, “such a mechanism would be detected due to its interference with the gate-control mechanisms.”

“I didn’t ask for a lecture on theory! According to what the Alliance found, the technology for those gates came from the enigmas. We know far too little about the hypernet and the gates. Do as I have instructed!” Iceni turned a furious look on Drakon. “What have those bastards who rule the Syndicate Worlds done to us? Are they pulling everything down around them just to ensure we lose as well?”

But Drakon wasn’t really listening to her, instead gazing at the display intently. She managed to damp down her anger before it exploded. “Is there something up there I don’t see?” Iceni asked through clenched teeth.

“No.” Drakon shook his head, still half-lost in thought. “There’s only one gate left, at Sobek. Why Sobek?”

“I already asked you that.”

“This means Black Jack has to take his fleet to Sobek,” Drakon pointed out.

“Of course, it—” Iceni halted in midsentence as she realized the point of what Drakon was saying. “Prime wants Black Jack to go to Sobek, and only to Sobek.”

“Yeah.” Drakon frowned and shook his head. “That would explain why Sobek was the only gate left standing, so that Black Jack would be forced to take a path home that Prime wants him to take. And he has no choice, the way I read it. He has to stick his head in that lion’s mouth in order to get back to Alliance space in any reasonable amount of time. Using jump drives all the way back would take way too long. But it doesn’t explain why Prime would take the extreme step of dropping the rest of their hypernet in order to force Black Jack to go to Sobek.”

“The Dancers?” Iceni felt a coldness sweep through her at the thought. “Would stopping them from reaching Alliance space be worth that cost to the Syndicate Worlds?”

“That’s possible.” Drakon looked even grimmer than before. “The first human contact with a nonhuman intelligence, if you don’t count the enigmas, and I don’t think you can. There’s no contact with the enigmas. Just war. But the Dancers are different. It would be just like the CEOs on Prime to want to destroy the Syndicate Worlds if necessary in order to keep the Alliance from gaining friendly contact with an alien species.”

“That could explain it. There’s also that superbattleship. Boyens kept pushing for access to that long after it was clear that Black Jack would never allow him within a light-hour of it. All Black Jack told us was that there was potentially new technology on that Kick ship and, hopefully, more information about the Kicks themselves. Maybe that’s all he knows. But that Kick technology could be of immense value, and Prime would want to deny that to the Alliance as well.” Iceni made a fist and rapped it against her own forehead. “But, all of those are long-term concerns. Short term, the impact on business in the Syndicate Worlds would be catastrophic. I just don’t see how they could do that. I’ll tell Black Jack we have no idea what the problem is but that we’ll do all we can to find out.”

“Do you want to warn him about going to Sobek?” Drakon asked.

“Do I have to?”

“No. If we saw the threat there, we can be certain that Black Jack saw it, too.”

Iceni headed for the secure office off the command center that she had been using lately, followed closely by Togo. “When was the last time we know that the hypernet gate could access other stars than Sobek?” she asked Togo, as they walked.

Togo consulted his data pad. “Two days. A freighter came in from Nanggal.”

“Nothing since then? That’s unusual but not too unusual. No wonder this came as a surprise.”

She entered the room, Togo behind her pausing to ensure the door closed securely, she glancing back to check the green glow of the lights pronouncing the room safe, reaching the desk, and beginning to walk around it to the chair—

“Freeze!”

Togo did not use that word or that tone of command unless it was very, very necessary.

Iceni jerked herself to a stop so quickly that a muscle protested. But she ignored that pain, concentrating on not moving.

She saw Togo come past her, studying one of his security devices, his eyes flicking toward the desk beside Iceni. His motions slowed, becoming very cautious and deliberate, as Togo knelt to look beneath the desk. He remained there for several seconds that felt much longer to Iceni, who was even trying to breathe without making any excess motion.

Togo stood up, his movements still careful but no longer minimized. “A bomb, Madam President, planted under the desk, invisible to the naked eye because it is formed into a thin sheet which was applied to the undersurface of the desk. Directional explosive. It would have cut you in half.”

“Am I still in danger?”

“Not where you are standing, Madam President. It is aimed at the chair.” Togo paused, no emotion visible on his face. “The fuse uses a biometric trigger, keyed to your physical traits.”

“Biometric.” Keyed on her. The bomb would not have exploded if anyone else sat in that chair. But if she had sat there again, she would have suffered certain death. “I’ve heard of those kinds of assassination devices. They’re not easy to acquire.” She wondered why she suddenly felt so calm.

“The Syndicate government kept tight control of them,” Togo agreed. He had knelt again and was working under the desk. “It is deactivated.”

Iceni relaxed, standing up straight. She looked toward the door of the room and the panel above it, where the lights still glowed green to indicate there were no taps, no bugs, no bombs, no threats of any kind in this office. Obviously, someone had not only planted the bomb but also hacked the supposedly secure sensors that would warn of the bomb. And of other things. How long ago was that done? Is this room bugged as well? How private have the conversations held in here really been?

The momentary calm was being replaced by anger again. “This room was compromised. How?”

Togo lowered his head in apology. “I do not know, Madam President. I will find out.”

“You’d damn well better. You saved my life, but if you’d done your job right, my life never would have been in peril. I need to know how someone got in here, everything they did, how the room got compromised without anyone’s detecting it, and most importantly, who it was.”

“I will find the answers, Madam President.” Togo indicated the desk. “But the answer to the last question may already be before us. This device contains explosives with military tags embedded in it.”

Military? Snakes had access to their own explosives, which contained no tags allowing them to be traced to their sources. The only people on Midway who would have access to specialized military explosives of this sort would have to be—

Togo was speaking again, his tone that of someone pronouncing sentence on the guilty. “General Drakon. Or someone on his staff.”