Perilous Shield

Chapter Eight

Under the circumstances, Iceni thought she sounded appropriately concerned but not as rattled as someone who had narrowly escaped assassination. She had chosen another secure room in the command center at random, had it swept for hazards, then sat down to send her reply to Black Jack. “A freighter arrived two days ago from the gate with Nanggal and did not report any problems. I assure you that we are extremely concerned by the news you have given us. We cannot explain the problems you are having accessing gates elsewhere in the Syndicate hypernet. My information prior to our break with the Syndicate was that every standing gate had already been equipped to prevent collapse by remote means. I cannot believe that the new government on Prime would have deliberately destroyed almost all of their hypernet. The impact on corporate activity and profits would be incalculable.

“That said, we have no idea what has happened. There are no indications that our own gate is suffering any problems or malfunctions. We have closely monitored it for any signs of software or hardware sabotage, especially during the period when CEO Boyens’s flotilla was in this star system.

“If you discover anything, or find any anomalies in the operation of the gate, we would be grateful if you would provide us with that information. For the people. Iceni, out.”

As she gazed at the small display above the desk, it occurred to her that if Black Jack had departed as scheduled, the bomb aimed at her would have gone off either just after his fleet left this star system or so close to that time that news of the event could not have reached Black Jack before his fleet entered the hypernet gate. Whoever did that did not want Black Jack to know. That tells me something very important—that Black Jack was not involved.

The big question now was what to do. Strike back? Syndicate etiquette called for an equivalent response, which would mean an attempt to put an end to Drakon.

Iceni kept her eyes on the display, but she wasn’t seeing the play of ships through the star system anymore. What am I feeling? Disappointment. No, something more than that.

How could Drakon have done such a thing? Or, if he didn’t order the attempt, let someone like that insane Morgan go after me? They should have known that even if the plot succeeded the military-tagged explosives would point—

Her eyes refocused. So did her brain.

Yes. They should have known. Get a grip, Gwen. Would Drakon or one of his close staff, people with access to commercial explosives, people who overran and control the snakes’ old headquarters facilities and so must have access to snake explosives, use military explosives that would clearly implicate them?

I must be getting old. Why did it take me so long to spot that?

She sat back, thinking, running through every fact, every event. After several minutes, Iceni keyed in a comm address. “General Drakon, I need to speak with you. Alone. Not at the command center. I have learned that at least some of the supposedly secure rooms here have been compromised.”

Drakon watched her, his eyes questioning. Concerned. She could tell he was worried, but his next words caught her off guard. “Are you all right?”

His first question was about her? She was what he was concerned about? Iceni’s mind floundered for a moment, surprised. “I’m fine. Where do you want to meet? We need somewhere new, somewhere secure, where no one would have expected us to meet.”

“There’s only one place I know of that fits that description, but you might not want to go there.”

“Tell me.”

Drakon waited at the entrance to the office once occupied by CEO Hardrad, former head of the Internal Security Service in the Midway Star System. The snake headquarters complex had been badly shot up when Drakon’s troops took the heavily fortified building, but Hardrad’s office deep inside it bore only one sign of the fate of both CEO Hardrad and the snakes on this planet. On one wall, behind Hardrad’s former desk, stains were still visible, marking where Hardrad had been standing when Colonel Morgan put a bullet through his head.

Iceni arrived with a couple of bodyguards, whom she told to wait outside before entering. She looked around, grimacing. “I have no fond memories of this room.”

“Me, neither,” Drakon agreed, gesturing to Colonel Malin to close the door and remain outside. “But the one place on this planet guaranteed to be without recording or listening devices is this office.”

“Ironic, isn’t it?” Iceni said. She glanced at the desk and Hardrad’s former chair, shook her head, then sat down in one of the comfortable chairs arrayed about a small table to one side of the office. “The snakes bugged every place they could except the office of their boss.”

“Snake CEOs don’t want anyone to know what they’ve done, or ordered,” Drakon observed, taking a seat opposite Iceni. “What happened?”

She eyed him for a few seconds before replying. “Someone tried to kill me. Or someone tried to make it look like someone tried to kill me.”

Drakon’s face went cold and hard. Inside, he felt the same way. “An assassination attempt? Aimed at you?”

“There was a biometric trigger on the bomb.”

He could feel warmth rushing to his face now, anger replacing the coldness. “I’ll— Hold on. You said someone might have tried to make it look like an assassination attempt?”

“Possibly.” Iceni watched him, looking puzzled. “You are a dilemma, General. Let me be frank. The bomb aimed at me contained military-tagged directional explosives.”

“What?” She kept throwing revelations at him, and it was taking time to absorb each new one. “Military-tagged?” The implications hit, and his anger grew. “Someone tried to implicate me in it? Someone wanted you to think I authorized that?”

“You didn’t?” “No!”

The vehemence of his reply surprised him, but Iceni just gazed back at him speculatively. “What about members of your staff? Someone close to you?”

“Absolutely not,” Drakon said. “You mean Colonel Morgan, don’t you?”

“Among other possibilities.”

“It wasn’t Morgan,” Drakon said, “because if it had been her, you would be dead. How did the bomb get spotted?”

“Someone detected it before I sat down.”

“Lucky they were behind the desk.”

Iceni paused. “Why do you say that?” Her voice sounded a bit too calm, too controlled as she asked the question.

“You said it used directional explosives,” Drakon explained. “The trigger would only have been scanning in the direction the explosives would strike.”

“Yes,” Iceni agreed. “So the trigger could only be detected in that direction? Interesting.”

Drakon gave her a demanding look. “Why?”

She watched him again for a while before replying. He wished he could hear the thoughts behind Iceni’s eyes.

Suddenly, Iceni made a small movement that caused a compact but very lethal and powerful weapon to appear in her hand. “You know that I could kill you right now.”

“I know that you could try. You must know that I have the same sort of defenses.”

“Yes.” Another twitch and the weapon disappeared into concealment again. “Why didn’t you tense when I displayed my weapon?”

Drakon gestured toward her face. “I was watching your eyes, not the weapon. When someone intends using a weapon, you can read it in the eyes first. You didn’t have the look.”

“I’ll have to work on that. I thought maybe you… trusted me. My experience in life,” Iceni said, “everything I have learned while climbing to the rank of CEO in the Syndicate, tells me to trust no one. There is only one person in this star system who I can be certain is not working against me.”

He started to smile, only to stop as she continued.

“That person is the Alliance liaison officer. I know she is not a snake. I know she is not working for you, or for any other faction in this star system, or for anyone in any nearby star system.”

“You think she doesn’t have any agendas?” Drakon challenged, his voice harsh.

“I know she does. And I know those agendas should correspond to mine.”

“Really? Are you ready for those free-and-open elections the Alliance always boasts about?”

Iceni didn’t answer immediately, instead sitting back and running one hand through her hair as she looked to the side. “You brought that up before. The citizens seem to be content with the bones we’re throwing them,” she finally said.

“I assume you’ve seen the same reports that I have,” Drakon said, pushing his point. “Some elements are already dissatisfied, already pushing for elections for all positions up to and including yours.”

Her eyes went back to him, challenging this time. “But not yours.”

“Because I don’t fill that kind of job. But those elements of the citizens expect me to obey whomever they elect to your job. I’m not thrilled at the idea,” Drakon added. “At some point, we’ll have to confront those citizens. That means keeping the majority of the citizens on our side and the majority of the elected offices on our side. I understand what that means. So do you. That Alliance officer? Very likely not.”

Iceni nodded, her eyes still on him. “You’re right. What are you telling me, Artur?”

“I’m telling you that the reason we decided to work together in the first place is still valid. If we’re going to survive, if we’re going to win, we need to work as a team.” I don’t know why I want her to believe that so badly, but I do. Anyway, it’s true. Alone, either one of us will be toast.

She finally smiled. “I wanted to hear you say that. I agree with you, but I wanted to know that you still understood what we’re facing. But does everyone else understand? Everyone who works for us?”

“No.” There wasn’t any sense in beating around the bush. “Not for me, anyway.”

“Not for me, either.” Iceni stood up, then reached a hand toward him. “Is there anyone you trust in this star system?”

He had to think carefully before answering, then stood as well and very briefly grasped her offered hand. “Yes.”

He knew Iceni was waiting to hear more before they both headed for the door, but, still smarting from her statement that she could only trust the Alliance liaison officer, Drakon said nothing else.

Black Jack’s fleet had departed but had left something behind that required Drakon’s personal presence in the main orbiting facility. The Syndicate citizens who had been captured and kept imprisoned by the alien enigma race had all chosen to stay at Midway, all three hundred and thirty-three of them. Black Jack had offered them eighteen, but at the critical moment, when the former prisoners would have been separated from each other, the rest of the group had changed their minds. It was the sort of thing you would expect from people suffering the effects of long imprisonment together. But now they were all free, and they were all coming here. They knew nothing about the enigmas, but their presence at Midway would still be a diplomatic coup of sorts.

Drakon sat alone in the passenger compartment of a military shuttle as it rose above the atmosphere. The large display at the front of the compartment was set for a split screen, one half looking upward to endless dark and endless stars, the other half down to where white clouds drifted above vast expanses of water broken by chains of islands and a couple of small island-continents. He had a sensation of being suspended between extremes, a feeling that his own decisions and actions could keep him here, balanced between the heavens and a living world, or propel him down to a fiery reentry or up to be lost in the cold dark.

The urgent chime of his comm unit provided a welcome interruption to the disturbing reverie. “What’s up?” he asked as the image of Colonel Malin appeared. “Is President Iceni going to be delayed?” Iceni was taking her own shuttle up. While the public image of them riding together might have helped cement the citizens’ view of Drakon and Iceni as co-rulers working in what passed for harmony under a Syndicate definition of the term, the risk of having two extremely lucrative targets in one vehicle had been judged far too great. Besides, accidents did happen. Real accidents, as opposed to the sort of accidents that conveniently removed rivals.

“No, sir,” Malin replied. “The President’s shuttle has lifted. But we have an interesting development. A freighter arrived at the hypernet gate a few hours ago. It came from Taniwah.”

He started to dismiss the news as inconsequential, then stared at Malin. “Taniwah? Not Sobek? You’re certain?”

“Yes, sir. When the freighter showed up, Kommodor Marphissa ordered Kraken to approach the gate and search for destinations. Every known gate in the Syndicate Worlds hypernet, except those like Kalixa, which were previously destroyed, was listed as an option.”

Drakon sat back, rubbing his chin. “We’ve got access to the entire hypernet again. The CEOs on Prime didn’t destroy the Syndicate hypernet.”

“No, sir. What they did do was somehow temporarily block access to any gate except Sobek for any ship or ships leaving here.”

“I didn’t know that was possible.”

“It’s not supposed to be possible,” Malin replied. “We don’t know how to do it. However, we have to assume that Prime now knows how to do it.”

“Wonderful. Where did you get this information?”

“It was forwarded to us from the planetary command center by order of President Iceni, General.”

“What are the chances that our spies in Syndicate space can find out how to work that trick with the hypernet, and maybe how to counter it?”

“I will send instructions to our sources in Syndicate-controlled space,” Malin said. “But since the instructions must go along with routine freighter movements that will take circuitous routes to avoid the official Syndicate blockade of us, it will take some time for those instructions to be received, and I do not know whether any of our sources can achieve the access needed to get that information. The Syndicate is certain to be holding it in the most-highly-classified channels.”

“What about our techs? Can they come up with the answer now that they know it can be done?”

“They have been notified, General. I understand that President Iceni has made that research a priority.”

“Good. Thank you.” As Malin’s image vanished, Drakon turned his gaze back to the display at the front of the compartment, where the stars and the surface of the planet offered their visions of opposing but equally dire fates.

The buzz of conversation among the main orbiting facility workers and family members who had gathered to view the arrival of those who had been captured by the enigmas rose as Drakon walked into view. He did his best to look casual, stopping to speak with the soldiers who were providing security in the shuttle-dock area for the event. “How does it feel?” he asked the major in charge of the guard force. “Do you have enough troops on hand?”

“The citizens are excited, General,” the major replied. “No anxiety, no sense of trouble brewing, though. No one thinks we’re hiding anything. We’ve got plenty of soldiers here if something unexpected happens.”

Drakon nodded, his eyes on the hatch through which the liberated prisoners would come. “I don’t know about you, Major, but I’m discovering that it’s sort of nice to be on the same side as the citizens.”

The major grinned, as did the soldiers within earshot. “Yes, sir. Instead of doing the dirty work for the snakes and the CEOs, we’re working for the people. I could get used to that.”

“It’s a welcome change, isn’t it?” These soldiers, and many others, had been used for security details often in the past. The snakes wouldn’t deign to dirty their hands with routine crowd control, or riot suppression, or other “mass internal security” actions, so the CEOs would order regular troops to do the disagreeable tasks.

But as Drakon took in the attitudes of his soldiers, saw that they stood and reacted toward the crowd as if they were part of it rather than a separate force to control it, he wondered what would happen if orders were given to use force against this crowd or any other. Iceni had said that she and Drakon still had the ability to use force to control the citizens, but looking at the situation here and now, Drakon wondered if that was still true.

I’ll check with my brigade commanders for their impressions when I get back to the surface. First, this operation has to be done right. “Stay alert when the prisoners start coming out,” Drakon ordered. “There was some trouble when they were picked up by our shuttles.”

The major’s smile faded into a frown. “The Alliance?”

“No. Apparently the Alliance treated them well. The trouble was because these citizens have been imprisoned by the enigmas. They’re fragile.”

“Oh, yes, sir. Like someone out of a labor camp? I’ll pass the word.”

The background drone of conversation rose to a roar as Gwen Iceni walked onto the dock, waving to the citizens behind the security barricades. “I-cen-eh! I-cen-eh!” the crowds chanted between cheers.

Drakon walked to meet her. “You’re popular,” he observed.

She eyed him, unexpectedly smiled, then grabbed his hand with one of hers and raised both high while turning to face the crowds full on. Drakon felt uncomfortable as the cheers redoubled and he heard cries of “Dra-kon!” and “the General!” mixed with the adulation for Iceni.

“I don’t trust it,” he muttered to Iceni, as she lowered her arm and released his hand.

“The hero worship from the mob?” she asked. “You’re right not to trust it. It can shift like the weather, and they’d be howling for our blood instead of chanting our names worshipfully. It was a good idea to meet up here together. It lets everyone see us doing something jointly, as a team.”

“Maybe we should look for anyone who appears unhappy at that,” Drakon commented.

“That’s not a bad idea.” She spoke into her personal comm. “My security detail will do a software search of security-camera imagery for discontented expressions.”

“Where are your bodyguards?”

“If the need arises for them, you’ll see them.” She smiled. “Yours?”

“I’ve got soldiers on hand.”

“Do you know of any specific threats?”

“No,” Drakon replied. “That bothers me. Somebody should be mouthing off, somebody should be getting drunk and boasting about what he or she would do someday, somebody who hates the CEOs should be planning to hit us because of our past. And then there’s the hidden snake agents out there. Why aren’t I hearing anything? Somebody went after you.”

“True. We can’t let our guards down, and the lack of reported threats to either of us is odd. We’re going to have to worry about threats to Captain Bradamont now as well. She will be coming off the ship first. We need our citizens to see this Alliance officer as a friend. How better to do so than by having her release to us the prisoners liberated by Black Jack?”

“It won’t be enough, but it’ll be a start,” Drakon conceded. “There goes the hatch. Let’s hope this doesn’t turn into a fiasco.”

The background noise of talking and shouting among the citizens dwindled rapidly as Captain Bradamont came walking out of the hatch, heading straight for Drakon and Iceni. Her Alliance uniform was impossible to miss, as was the fact that she was not walking like a prisoner. The conversation among the citizens died out completely before a few angry shouts erupted.

By then, Bradamont had reached Drakon and Iceni. She came to attention and saluted in the Alliance fashion, the fingertips of her right hand to her right brow, holding the gesture as she spoke. “President Iceni, General Drakon,” she said in a voice that easily carried. “It is my great pleasure to deliver to you on behalf of the Alliance the citizens who were formerly held captive by the enigma alien race. We have brought them home, as they wished, and now release them to the care of their friends, families, and loved ones.”

Drakon returned a Syndic salute, right fist coming across to rest on his left breast. “Thank you.”

Iceni nodded. “We are all in debt to Black Jack, who liberated these citizens from the enigmas, brought them back to us through great dangers, and asked for nothing in return for them.”

The buzz of conversation this time was much more subdued as the citizens reacted to the show that been put on for their benefit. Drakon suspected that Bradamont’s little speech had been edited by Iceni before the freighter carrying her arrived.

Bradamont stepped a little closer and spoke much more quietly. “Watch the liberated prisoners carefully when they come out and handle them gently if they start to act up. They’re very jumpy. Not dangerous. Just scared.”

“Got it,” Drakon said, watching as the liberated prisoners began coming out of the hatch. Some wore new overalls and other clothing provided by the Alliance, while many others clung to the patchwork assortment of clothing they had worn when liberated. They walked in a group, staying together like a herd of animals seeking protection, some looking around in wonder and others staring fixedly ahead. Most of them broke into relieved smiles as they saw images and uniforms that told them they were indeed home.

One of them, an elderly man, saw Drakon and pulled himself away from the others. He straightened and saluted in a jerky, rusty way, as if the gesture were something dimly remembered.

“Line Worker Olan Paster,” he announced. “Reporting for duty.”

Drakon regarded the old man somberly as he returned the salute. “What is your unit?”

“Hunter-Killer 9356G, sir.”

“G-model Hunter-Killers haven’t been constructed for decades,” Iceni said. She looked up from a quick data check. “HuK 9356G is listed as having disappeared at Pele forty-five years ago.”

“It has been that long?” The old man blinked in confusion. “We had no way to track time. The Alliance told us the universal date, but we wondered. I’m sorry. I don’t know the clothes you wear, so I don’t know what title to give you.”

“We’ve discarded standard Syndic outfits,” Drakon told him. “I’m General Drakon, this is President Iceni. We are no longer part of the Syndicate Worlds.”

“Not… Syndicate?”

“No,” Iceni said, smiling reassuringly now. “There are no snakes in this star system,” she announced to all of the former prisoners. “We are no longer servants to the Syndicate, no longer slaves to the CEOs on Prime. We, and you, are free. You will be given living quarters on this station and treated well. As soon as any family members in this star system are identified, they will be allowed to visit you. Cooperate to the best of your ability in answering all questions. Citizens from Taroa, we have accepted temporary custody of you pending your acceptance by the new government in Taroa Star System. The rest of you are welcome here while we locate your homes and try to arrange transportation.”

A woman of late middle age stared at Drakon. “What has happened to the Syndicate Worlds? The Alliance workers told us they had won the war, that it was over. We didn’t believe them.”

“Did the Alliance treat you well?” Iceni asked for the benefit of the onlookers.

“Yes. Yes, they were good to us.”

“The war is over,” Drakon said. “You’ll have access to current news as well as archives and history so you can catch up on events.”

“Thank you, honored CEO—”

“General,” Drakon interrupted. “My rank is General. The civilian leader of this star system is President Iceni. CEOs no longer rule here.”

“For the people!” Iceni said loudly, drawing renewed cheers from the onlookers as doctors began leading the liberated prisoners toward the room block set aside for them.

A small child, who must have never known freedom, broke away from the group and ran up to Captain Bradamont. “Thank you! Thank you for saving us!” the child cried before her mother caught up and led her back to the group.

Drakon glanced at Iceni and saw her smiling. That little incident would play very well on every newscast and other form of media. I wonder if Gwen somehow set that up, too?

Captain Bradamont watched the prisoners leave, then faced Drakon and Iceni again. “I am at your service.”

She was putting up a good act. He had to give Bradamont credit for that. But Drakon could see the nervousness behind her unruffled façade.

“So I understand,” Drakon said. “Come along. Your bags will be brought down later.”

He and Iceni began walking back toward the VIP boarding area, Bradamont between them. It felt odd to walk side by side with an Alliance officer. Very odd. Soldiers formed security a ways before and behind as they walked, as did several men and women dressed as citizens who stayed well away but who were exceptionally alert and radiated a dangerous competence.

“My office,” Iceni said, “is issuing a public announcement about you, Captain Bradamont. Everyone in Midway Star System is being told that you are here as a personal representative of Black Jack. Do you know the term ‘scion’?”

Bradamont shook her head.

“There are several sorts of patronage arrangements in the Syndicate system,” Iceni explained. “We still default to that system. People still think in those terms and understand those terms. Most patronage arrangements are informal, reflecting varying degrees of interest by a higher-up in the career and life of a particular subordinate.”

“I understand that sort of thing,” Bradamont said.

“Then there is a scion,” Iceni continued. “A scion is a formal designation of patronage. When someone is declared the scion of a high-ranking official, it says that anything that happens to the scion, any threat made to the scion, is the same as if it was done to the high-ranking patron. My office is identifying you to every citizen as a scion of Black Jack and a scion of both General Drakon and myself.”

Iceni gave Bradamont a wry look. “There has probably never been a scion with that amount of firepower in her corner. Congratulations.”

“Thank you, but that wasn’t necessary—”

“Yes, it was,” Drakon said. “Everyone had to know that any attempt to harm you or mistreat you would be regarded in the exact same way as a personal attack on myself or President Iceni. That won’t keep you safe from anyone gunning for either of us, but it will stave off attempts by anyone tempted to settles scores from the war.”

“It will also,” Iceni added, “ensure that you are treated appropriately to your rank. Anyone who insults you will know they are insulting us as well.” She brought out a comm unit and passed it to Bradamont. “This is yours. It is loaded with personal contact numbers for myself, General Drakon, and some of our high-ranking assistants. If you use this unit to call any of the official numbers it will automatically encrypt the conversation. That does not mean no one can intercept the signal or decipher what is being said. Never say anything confidential on this unit or in public. Save such conversations for face-to-face talks in secure environments.”

“We’ve set up quarters for you at my command complex,” Drakon said. “There’s a suite there for visiting VIPs. It’s a lot more than an officer of your rank would normally get, but then you’re also sort of an ambassador. Having you inside the command complex perimeter will make security a lot easier.”

Bradamont just nodded this time, looking at the military and civilian guards around them. Her thoughts couldn’t be read from her expression, but Drakon found himself wondering if this level of guards and security would have been found around comparable Alliance leaders. Probably. The Syndicate didn’t have an exclusive monopoly on crazies. But for someone much lower on the ladder like Bradamont, this amount of personal security must feel weird.

They reached the access to the VIP dock, shedding most of the guards and all of the onlookers as they left the public areas. “Tell me,” Iceni said to Bradamont, “your impression of Kommodor Marphissa.”

“She is talented and has a great deal of potential,” Bradamont said without hesitation. “Due to her rapid rise in rank, she has some experience to gain, but I have no doubt she will pick that up quickly.”

“I understand that you witnessed the removal from command of Kapitan Toirac,” Iceni continued.

“I did.”

“What was your impression of Kapitan Toirac?”

This time Bradamont did pause before speaking, each word coming out with thought behind it. “Promoted well above his level of competence. Unable to handle the responsibilities. Unwilling to address his weak areas. Now so embittered that I would not trust him in any position of authority.”

“I see.” Iceni halted, causing the rest of them to stop walking as well, and studied Bradamont. “Did you discuss the matter with Kommodor Marphissa?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And Kapitan-Leytenant Kontos? What did you think of him?”

Bradamont smiled slightly. “He is impressive. He has a lot to learn, but I have no doubt he will pick everything up fast. He’s the closest thing to a natural I’ve ever met.”

“A natural?” Iceni asked.

Drakon answered. “Someone with an instinctive grasp for the right thing to do and how to do it. That was Colonel Rogero’s impression of Kontos as well.”

Bradamont kept her expression controlled but her eyes went to Drakon as he said Rogero’s name.

Iceni noticed that as well, raising an eyebrow at Drakon. “I will leave you here, Captain Bradamont. General Drakon and I are traveling by separate shuttles for security reasons. I have in hand a proposal from Kommodor Marphissa for a very hazardous mission. I want to talk to you about that soon. General, you will have to be at that meeting as well. The proposed mission will require some ground forces as security.”

“Yes,” Bradamont said. “I do want to talk about that as soon as possible. But I don’t think it can be done now that the Syndic hypernet is gone.”

“You didn’t hear? A freighter arrived via hypernet a few hours ago. Everything is working again.”

Bradamont stared at Iceni. “You— The Syndicate Worlds can do that? Selectively shut off your hypernet?”

“The Syndicate apparently can do it,” Drakon said. “But we can’t.” Iceni turned a reproachful look on him. He knew why and answered her unspoken rebuke. “Captain Bradamont needs to know that. She needs to tell the Alliance we still have a hypernet gate that is of great value to them and that we did not block Black Jack’s fleet from reaching other destinations.”

Iceni thought about it for all of two seconds, then nodded. “You’re right, General. The arrival of that freighter came as a great shock to us, Captain Bradamont.”

“I do need to get word of that back home as fast as I can,” Bradamont agreed. “Before you go, Madam President, I should deliver these to you and General Drakon.” She put a hand into one pocket, apparently oblivious to the way the remaining bodyguards focused intently on her motion, and brought out two data coins. “From Admiral Geary. These are reports on what we found in enigma space, Kick space, and Dancer space, as well as what information we have on each species.”

Drakon took one of the discs. “These are identical?”

“The discs? Yes, sir. One for each of you.”

“How diplomatic,” Iceni commented, taking hers. “Are there any surprises on here?”

“I don’t know,” Bradamont replied. “I know Admiral Geary already told you some things. He said to me that you are on the front lines of humanity’s contact with these species and therefore need to know as much as possible about them.”

“A pity he did not allow some of our technicians to board the captured alien superbattleship,” Iceni said pointedly.

Bradamont made an apologetic gesture with one hand. “Even our own techs haven’t been allowed on board. There’s a security force on Invincible, but we don’t dare touch anything until we get her back to Alliance space.”

Drakon had to admit that the explanation made sense, but it was the same sort of excuse he would have offered to anyone who wanted to stick their nose in somewhere he didn’t want them to go. At least Black Jack is being polite when he tells us to go to hell. “Let me know about that meeting,” Drakon told Iceni, then led Bradamont into his shuttle.

The guard at the entry ramp was doing her best not to stare at Bradamont, as was the shuttle pilot waiting inside. Drakon gestured for Bradamont to enter, then followed her into the passenger compartment, seating himself next to Bradamont.

As the hatch sealed, she took a sudden breath. Glancing down, Drakon saw one hand tightly gripping her armrest. The last time she was locked in with someone like me she really was locked in. A prisoner. Now she’s back around the same kind of people, having put herself totally at our mercy. “Do you know what snakes are?” he asked.

Bradamont nodded. “Both the reptile kind and the human variety.”

“The human-variety snakes were almost completely eliminated in this star system. We’re hunting a few hidden remnants.”

“Colonel Rogero told me.” She nodded again, still tense. “I hope you understand there is a difference between knowing that and accepting it.”

“I do,” Drakon admitted. “I still have trouble with that myself. But it is in our best interests to treat you right, Captain Bradamont, and I intend making sure you are treated right.”

Bradamont looked right at him. “No escorts for us on this shuttle?”

“You’re a guest. Why would we need guards?” Drakon studied her as the shuttle undocked and began the transit and descent to the planet below. “Colonel Rogero has worked directly for me for some years. He’s one of the best officers I’ve ever had.”

She met his eyes. “And?”

“If you’re wondering why he wasn’t the one who met you, it’s because I wanted to size you up in person. You almost got him killed, you know.”

“Yes. I know.”

“But he was an equal partner in that,” Drakon continued. “All I care about is whether we can work with an Alliance officer. From what I’ve heard, you did all right on Manticore.”

“I was mostly an observer, there for the legal niceties,” Bradamont said.

“I recognize some of those ribbons you’re wearing, Captain. You didn’t earn them observing things.” He pointed to one, with red, green, and silver bands. “I know that one. It’s for Ajatar, right?”

“Yes, sir. How did you know?”

“One of those intelligence summaries,” Drakon explained. “I didn’t really need to know what all the Alliance ribbons and badges stood for, but that one caught my eye because I was at Ajatar. On the ground.”

Her eyes met his again. “Ground forces? The second planet.”

“Yeah. We got our butts kicked pretty bad.”

She shook her head. “Our ground forces people were saying afterward that they couldn’t believe you held out until a Syndic flotilla arrived that was strong enough to drive us out of the star system.”

Drakon shrugged, looking away as memories flooded into his mind. “It wasn’t easy. There weren’t a lot of us left by then. I was a… you’d call the rank major, I guess. I arrived on the planet with a battalion. When we finally got relieved I had about a platoon’s worth still alive.”

“It was bad in space, too. I was just an ensign on a heavy cruiser. The Sallet. We got shot to pieces. About forty of us made it off in escape pods before the power core blew.”

“Damn. Funny you were on one of the ships dropping rocks on my head. Small galaxy, isn’t it?” Drakon sighed, then shrugged again. “I’m glad it’s over.”

“Is it?”

“Nah. We’re all still fighting, aren’t we? The enemies have just changed. But I like to pretend.”

“That can be a bad habit in senior officers,” Bradamont observed.

The blunt observation could have upset him with its borderline insubordination, but instead Drakon found himself smiling wryly. “A very bad habit, especially when planning operations. I think I’m beginning to see what Colonel Rogero sees in you and why Black Jack picked you for this assignment.”

“Will I be… General, this is a purely personal question. Will I be allowed to see Colonel Rogero?”

“Allowed? You’ll be required to see him. He’s going to be your official handler though he’ll retain his primary job as one of my brigade commanders.”

Bradamont swallowed, eyes wide. “Thank you, General.”

“I did it for him,” Drakon said, feeling uncomfortable at her obvious gratitude. “You’ll have some guards assigned to you, but they’ll respect your privacy. Remember what President Iceni said. Anything you say in public or on a comm line will probably be overheard.”

“I thought the snakes were gone,” Bradamont said.

“Most of them. We’re certain there is at least one snake operative hidden among the citizens or the military. But snakes aren’t the only ones who tap into conversations. You know how that is.”

Her gaze back at him was perplexed. Clearly, this Alliance officer didn’t know how it was. “General, are you talking about official or unofficial snoops?”

“Both. Internal politics and competition for promotions can get really hardball.” She had to understand that aspect of things.

“Hardball,” Bradamont repeated. “You mean politicking?”

“No, I mean blackmail, spying, and assassinations.”

She stared back at him. “I’m waiting for you to say just kidding.”

“That doesn’t happen in the Alliance?” Drakon asked.

“No. I mean, in rare cases. But it is rare.” Bradamont looked down, her expression concerned. “Some of the things Colonel Rogero said to me. I assumed I’d misinterpreted them.”

“You didn’t.” Drakon gave her his sternest look. “You need to know how things work here. How things have worked because I always hated that junk and will do my best to stamp it out. There’s a reason why officers always carry sidearms, and it’s not because we expect an Alliance invasion at any second. There’s a reason why I often have bodyguards around me. I’m going to do my best to keep you alive, and I’m sure that Colonel Rogero will do the same. But you need to know what’s going on so you’ll stay alert for trouble.”

“I… will do that, General.” She looked up at the large display mounted on the front of the passenger compartment. It was now displaying a single external view of the planet below them as the shuttle dropped ever lower. “It’s beautiful.”

“I’ve seen a lot worse planets,” Drakon agreed. “Are you going to be all right, Captain?”

She switched her gaze, and he saw an Alliance battle cruiser commander looking back at him. Tough. Smart. Not just competent, but skilled. “I’ll be all right, General.”

He had wondered what could have led Rogero to fall in love with an enemy prisoner of war. Having finally met her, he found that Rogero’s fall wasn’t all that surprising. “We’ll land next to my headquarters complex. Colonel Rogero is standing by there. He doesn’t know why, by the way.”

“He’ll have seen the news reports—”

“No, he won’t. As far as Colonel Rogero knows, you left with Black Jack’s fleet.”

She smiled. “You’re an evil man, General.”

“Most people who have said that really mean it, you know.”

“I doubt that. General, may I make a request?”

Colonel Rogero tried not to look as aggravated as he felt. It was not by any means the first time he had been pulled away from his unit on vague orders from General Drakon. It also wasn’t the first time he had been escorted to a secure conference room in the main command complex to await the General and a briefing on orders too sensitive to be passed on by any other means.

But he had been sitting here for hours, alone in a conference room that was not just secure but also sealed. He hadn’t been able to access any comm lines, hadn’t been able to check on alerts or current events or anything else outside the four walls confining him. I wanted to see the former enigma prisoners arrive. There were rumors that the General would be at the main orbiting facility for that. Why am I a virtual prisoner in here when there is so much going on outside?

It wasn’t just the former prisoners coming in, though their arrival could arouse a wave of rumors and even instability among the citizens. There were still snakes hidden out there, and he couldn’t hunt for them while confined in a room that didn’t even allow him to call out.

Is my own loyalty suspected? Colonel Morgan has been acting guarded around me for a while, but Colonel Malin knows me well enough to know I would not betray General Drakon. But, if knowledge of my ties with the snakes has become more widely known…

Rogero looked toward the door with a sinking feeling. Protective custody? Is that what this is? To keep my own troops from murdering me as a snake agent? Surely Drakon would tell them the truth, that I misled the snakes and protected the General. But would they listen?

He saw the door latch move, then the portal swung open. General Drakon himself, looking unconcerned. “I’m sorry you’ve been kept on ice for a while, Donal. There was something I needed to take care of.”

“General,” Rogero said, rising from his seat a bit faster than he usually would have, “is there anything—”

Drakon waved a dismissive hand. “You’re all right. I brought you here to tell you that you’re getting another collateral duty.”

“Another collateral duty?” That wasn’t welcome news. Extra jobs on the side tended to take an inordinate amount of time away from your primary job. But compared to his earlier worries, it was a very small inconvenience. “What is it?”

“I’ll show you. Come on.”

Rogero followed, mystified, as Drakon led the way through the complex. “How’s your unit doing?”

“They’re fine, General. Morale is good.”

“Excellent. I need to talk to you later about your impressions of the troops and their attitudes toward the citizens.” Drakon stopped before the closed door of a small automated snack bar for use by headquarters personnel. “But that can wait a few hours. Here we are.”

“General?”

Drakon glanced at Rogero. “Your new, extra responsibility is inside. It’s something that only you can deal with, Colonel.”

“In… a snack bar?”

“Take your time. When you’re done in there, report to VIP Quarters One. Understand?”

“VIP ?”

“Just do as you’re told, Colonel.” Drakon partially opened the door, took Rogero by one arm, and urged him through the gap.

Mystified, and a bit worried again, Rogero started to turn back as he heard the door click shut behind him. Instead, he spun to face the inside of the room as someone stood up from one of the tables.

For one of the few times in his life, Donal Rogero could only stare, unable to think or talk.

“I bought you a drink,” Captain Bradamont said, offering a bottle. “I didn’t have any of the local currency, so your General lent me some.”

The Alliance dress uniform she wore was clean and neat, not like the torn and burn-marked battle uniform that Bradamont had worn on the prisoner transport ship and in the labor camp. A command pin had been added to the decorations she wore, along with some new campaign and battle ribbons. But she herself had not changed at all. “Honore?” Rogero finally said as his brain gradually began working again. “Is this real?”

She walked up to him, offering the bottle once more. “It’s real. I told you that I’d buy you a drink someday. Your General said this is a popular drink here.”

“He was joking,” Rogero said, feeling dizzy. “The troops call it croak because of the taste. We use it to clean brass.”

“Oh, sorry.” She paused, looking at him. “You said you’d buy dinner.”

“Yes. I did.” Rogero shook his head. “I… I don’t understand.”

“I’ve been detached from the Alliance fleet with orders to serve as liaison officer to the Midway Star System.”

“It’s… not possible. General Drakon knows. He knows about us.”

“Yes. So does Admiral Geary.”

“Then… why?”

“Because they know us,” Bradamont said. “They know that we held to honor despite everything and that we never failed in our duties. We never betrayed them, we never betrayed our worlds, and we never betrayed each other. Maybe that qualifies us to show our respective peoples how to work together. There were some other reasons why I ended up being asked to volunteer for this assignment, but we can discuss those another time.”

Enough neurons finally started firing in Rogero’s brain for him to think. “General Drakon set this up? How did he know that the last thing you said to me was that you would buy me a drink someday?”

“I told him.” She smiled. “He seems like a hard boss, but a good one.”

“He’s a very good boss. He’s… he’s… Dammit, Honore, may I hold you? May I kiss you?”

“Why the hell are you asking instead of doing it, Donal? But be careful not to muss the uniform.”

Drakon waited until an escort arrived to get Bradamont safely to her quarters, telling them to wait until Colonel Rogero opened the door. As he walked away, he saw Morgan standing at the end of the hallway, her eyes locked on the door to the snack bar.

“Is what I heard true?” she demanded.

Instead of replying, Drakon bent a stern look her way. “Is that the proper tone of voice to use with me?”

She made an obvious effort to control herself. “Pardon me, sir. Is it true that an Alliance fleet officer is in that room and not under arrest?”

“We’re not at war with them anymore, Colonel Morgan. In fact, they’re acting a lot like allies.”

“Sir—”

“Yes. An Alliance fleet captain is in that room. She is an official representative to President Iceni and me, and she is under the personal protection of President Iceni and me. She is my scion. Understand? Nothing is to happen to her, and she is to be treated with the respect appropriate to her rank.”

“Your… scion.” Morgan stared at him, her eyes wide and alight with fury. “An Alliance officer. They killed—”

“We all killed, Colonel Morgan. The war has ended. We have plenty of enemies in common. We start over now. Even if that weren’t true, we need the backing from Black Jack that woman gives us. She might be the one thing that buys us enough time to get our forces strong enough to stand on our own.”

The way she regained full control almost instantaneously was startling and more than a little alarming. The fire in Morgan’s eyes died, replaced by a cold shield that revealed neither thoughts nor feeling. Her expression smoothed out into a similarly shielded exterior. “Yes, General. I understand.” Even her voice was now perfectly professional and properly respectful.

“Colonel Morgan… Roh… we need to do things differently. For a long time, the past, the present, and the future were all the same. The same war then, the same war now, the same war to come. That pattern has finally been broken. The future can be different than the past. The future can be better than the past.”

Emotion came back. Morgan nodded, smiling in total agreement. “Yes, sir. The future will be better. We will build our strength, and we will make a better future.”

“You understand that declaring Captain Bradamont to be a scion of myself and President Iceni is to ensure her safety?”

Morgan smiled and nodded. “It doesn’t mean she’s really your heir in any way.”

“That’s right. Come along with me. I want to talk about finding the snakes still hiding on this planet or elsewhere in this star system.”

“I’ve been digging. Got a few leads,” Morgan said as she walked beside him. They went out the front of the headquarters complex into the open area before it, guards automatically falling into place around Drakon. He glanced at the turf covering much of the plaza facing his headquarters, his mind as usual briefly recalling how much effort the Syndicate had insisted go into keeping that grass perfect, including the use of the most sophisticated genetic manipulation to create grass of just the “right” shade of green and just the right thickness of each blade of grass. He had looked at the official specifications for grass once, marveling at how much effort could be invested in something so relatively unimportant, especially given the Syndicate bureaucracy’s tendency to blow off issues regarding the safety of the soldiers who were prohibited from walking on the grass except during official functions.

Behind them, the front of the headquarters complex did not look like the fortress that it was, the armor and defenses hidden behind false windows, façades, and other decoration. In one of its odder decisions, the Syndicate bureaucracy had mandated no fences or other barriers or defenses on the other three sides of the parade plaza, declaring that ground forces headquarters must appear open and accessible to the citizens. Or perhaps the decision hadn’t been so odd since it had meant the snakes inside their Internal Security Service facilities had been better protected behind their defensive walls than the soldiers of the ground forces.

“We should fix some of this,” Drakon commented to Morgan. “Now that we can. Get some unobtrusive defenses set up along the outer perimeter of the parade area. No citizens are allowed on it anyway.” He scanned the other three sides of the plaza, where low, multiuse buildings of various designs sat across from an access road that formally separated the headquarters area from the rest of the city. A lot of the citizens were in sight, going about their business and, out of long habit, avoiding even glancing toward the headquarters. The snakes had liked to haul in anyone suspected of “surveillance,” even if the evidence for that had consisted only of a single fleeting look toward a government building.

“Now you’re talking,” Morgan agreed, and began describing a set of defenses that would have withstood a full-scale attack by an entire army.

“Maybe a little less than that,” Drakon suggested dryly, glad that he had gotten Morgan’s mind off the Alliance officer. “Have you found any leads yet on—”

Drakon would never know just what had tipped off one of his bodyguards. The woman had begun to shout a warning, her weapon out and coming up to aim, when alarms tied to automated sensors watching the area blared to life, followed a second later by shots erupting from three sides.