Perilous Shield

Chapter Nine

Iceni, head lowered in thought, bolted to attention as an urgent signal echoed in her office. “What is it?”

The staff official looking at her through the virtual window that had popped up beside her desk spoke rapidly. “We have reports of weapons being fired near General Drakon’s headquarters. Automated collection systems show an ongoing firefight.”

“A firefight?” Iceni demanded. “Not just a few shots?”

“There are scores of shots already recorded, Madam President. I have dispatched emergency tactical teams from the nearest police stations and notified the nearest hospitals to send assistance.”

“Good.” She was taking deep breaths, trying to control her heartbeat, which had begun racing.

“Hundreds of messages, alerts, and bulletins in news channels and other media about the fighting are being held up by the censoring software.”

“Keep doing that until we find out what’s going on,” Iceni ordered.

The officer looked to one side, his expression going from concerned to horrified. “Dozens of unconfirmed media reports saying that General Drakon is dead are coming in and being blocked from further transmission, Madam President.”

Dead? No. Impossible. Not him. She inhaled slowly again. “Hold those as well. I want to know everything as fast as we learn it.”

“But if General Drakon is—”

“He’s not dead!”

The officer stared, then nodded. “I understand, Madam President. I will send a constant data feed to your desk.”

“Get it going,” Iceni said, her voice under control again. As the officer’s image vanished, her hand went to her comm unit, then hesitated. If he’s alive, and people are shooting at him, he doesn’t need distractions.

Where the hell is Togo?

The female bodyguard died before she could get off a shot, as did two other guards, but her warning had given Drakon the extra instant he needed to dive for cover and avoid subsequent shots aimed at him. Not that there was much cover in this open area, by order of the Syndicate bureaucracy.

Drakon sprawled behind the body of one of his guards, his weapon in his hand, trying to spot some of the locations where the shots were coming from as solid projectiles and energy bursts tore holes in the very-carefully-maintained turf near him. Even under these circumstances, a small part of his mind couldn’t help recalling certain bosses he had suffered under who would have been far more upset about the damage to the grass than the deaths of the bodyguards.

Two meters away, Morgan, her face a mask of rage, was lying near another dead guard, her weapon out, one hand supporting her weapon hand as she fired with steady, careful accuracy. Other defensive fire was going out, the surviving bodyguards and the sentries at the entrance to the headquarters hurling shots at the places among the low buildings surrounding the plaza from which the attackers were firing.

Spotting the location of one attacker, Drakon aimed and squeezed off three carefully spaced shots. It’s been about fifteen seconds since they opened fire, another part of his mind calculated with cold precision. The reaction security force inside headquarters will be out here within another forty-five seconds.

The attackers had ceased aiming at the guards and now were concentrating their fire on Drakon. He wondered if forty-five seconds would be too long. Bad enough to be the target of so many attackers when in battle armor, but right now all he had were the defenses in his uniform, which while sufficient for some protection would not stop the sort of barrage that was directed at him.

Morgan glanced back at him, sizing up his situation and his peril in an instant, her eyes dark and wide.

She bolted to her feet, instantly becoming the most prominent target on the plaza.

“Morgan!” Drakon shouted, firing rapidly at a couple of spots from which shots were coming. “Get down!”

She ignored his command, not just charging furiously ahead but also screaming defiance and firing as she ran to generate the maximum amount of attention. Morgan could move like a ghost when she wanted to. Right now, she was doing all that she could to attract the fire of the attackers to her, and away from Drakon. Morgan was dodging as she moved to make shots aimed at her more difficult, but was still hideously exposed. In full battle armor, such a maneuver would be very risky. With Morgan wearing no armor at all, her charge was insane.

Unable to stop her, Drakon took advantage of the distraction Morgan had provided to rise to one knee and aim, ignoring the shots still aimed at him that tore into the turf or zipped past his head. His next shot caused a figure to fall. He shifted targets, firing several more times.

Soldiers were spilling out of the headquarters entrance and secondary exits, menacing in armor, carrying combat weapons, and searching for targets.

The remaining fire aimed at Drakon dropped off so rapidly that he knew the attackers must be bolting for safety.

Morgan had reached her objective, miraculously not having been hit. She leaped over a railing, one hand staying locked on the top rail to help her pivot in midair and come down on those sheltered behind the ankle-high wall topped by the open fence. Drakon saw her weapon firing and Morgan’s free hand rising to strike down viciously.

“General!” The captain in charge of the response force and a dozen of his soldiers raced into place around Drakon, forming an armored perimeter.

Drakon pointed, speaking coolly and clearly. “Shots came from there, there, there, and there. Colonel Morgan has taken out whoever fired from that location.”

“We’ve got troops in full pursuit, sir.”

Drakon heard the sirens from headquarters cut off but heard other sirens approaching. “There will be police responding to this gunfire. Make sure our troops don’t engage them by accident.”

“Yes, sir!”

Drakon looked around, realizing that firing had completely ceased. The soldiers forming an armored wall about him moved outward as they were reinforced, leaving him standing in a small, circular, open area where the grass smoked in dozens of places that marked the impacts of shots.

Two of the soldiers moved slightly, opening a temporary gap between them. Morgan came strolling through that gap. She was dragging a limp body with her by one leg, the body’s torso and head thumping along over the ground. Reaching Drakon, Morgan dropped the leg and stood by her trophy, grinning wolfishly.

“Roh,” Drakon said, “if you ever—”

“You’re all right, General?” Morgan interrupted, her chest still heaving from exertion, her eyes alight with something more feral than adrenaline-fueled energy.

“I’m fine. That was insane.”

She grinned wider. “I got a medical waiver saying I’m good enough for government work, General. I had to draw their fire.”

“No, you didn’t,” Drakon snapped.

“Yes, sir, I did,” Morgan said with an intensity that surprised him. “Nobody’s going to kill you if I can stop it. And I got us a prisoner.”

“How many did you see?” Drakon asked, deciding not to further berate Morgan in public, not that his words seemed to be having any impact on her. He also knew that she was very likely right. If she hadn’t drawn some of the fire aimed at him, he wouldn’t have made it until the soldiers had arrived.

“Two,” Morgan said nonchalantly. “The other one at that spot is dead.”

Shaking his head, Drakon knelt to examine the man. “He’s not military.”

“Nah. Civilian. He had a suicide belt on, but I left that with his buddy. I can’t wait to see what this guy says under interrogation.”

“Me, too.” Drakon jerked back as the limp body suddenly jolted, then went slack in a different manner than before. In the near distance, two explosions resounded at nearly the same moment, the crashes so close together that they nearly merged into one blast that echoed from nearby walls.

Morgan scowled. “Someone set off those suicide belts.” She knelt as well, peeling back one eyelid on her former prisoner. “Looks like brain-bake nanos. The same someone who triggered the belts figured out we had this guy and activated a backup method of keeping him quiet.”

“Damn. We’ve still got two bodies.”

“One body, boss,” Morgan pointed out. “And parts of another.”

“All right. There should be enough parts left for some identification. Let’s find out who they both are, so the police can go talk to their friends before the friends can go underground.” He stood up, grimacing at the sight of the dead bodyguards. “Somebody besides those two you took care of is going to pay a price for this.”

“Say the word and name the target,” Morgan said, her grin fully exposing her canines.

His comm unit buzzed in a particular pattern. Drakon pulled it out. “Here.”

“Artur?” Iceni sounded very worried. Most of him felt good about that, but part of him couldn’t help wondering if it was because a plan of hers might have misfired. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine, but I lost three guards.”

“What happened? All I heard was a firefight. Someone tried to flood the media with reports you were dead.”

“Did they?” Drakon asked. “Can you trace those back to their source?”

“We’re trying. Did you get any of them?”

“Two, at least. One was alive, but he had remote-suicide nanos in him. Somebody is definitely playing for keeps.”

A pause, then Iceni spoke again. “Is there anything you need from me?”

“Just make sure the police and my troops don’t knock heads. I have a feeling the attackers who took off have already vanished into the woodwork.”

“I’ll do that. Take care of yourself.”

Drakon put away his comm unit, noticing that Morgan was looking down at the dead attacker with an inquiring gaze. “See something?” he asked.

“Who really wants you out of the way?” Morgan answered him with a question of her own.

“Besides whatever snakes remain in this star system? You tell me.”

“Madam President.” Morgan nodded toward the dead man. “Who has access to that kind of nano? And those kind of weapons?”

“The snakes,” Drakon said patiently.

“They’re not the only ones.” She used her toe to push back one sleeve and expose the man’s forearm. “See that?”

It was impossible to miss. “A labor-camp mark.”

“How many citizens who spent time in a labor camp are going to have anything to do with snakes?”

He didn’t have any answer to that.

Colonel Malin had been extremely upset when he returned to headquarters, making up for his absence when Drakon was attacked with a whirlwind of activity. “The police have hauled in every known associate of the two dead men,” he told Drakon. They were in a secure conference room, along with Morgan.

Malin brought up an image on the display, showing every shot fired during the engagement. “From an analysis of the firing patterns, they initially aimed for your guards, General, then, after the first volley, shifted their attack to you and Colonel Morgan. That split in their targeting is what kept you from being hit, sir. For the first several seconds, only half the available weapons were firing at you.”

Drakon glared at the image, then at Malin. “Colonel Morgan drew their fire deliberately.”

“Yes, sir,” Malin agreed, while Morgan smirked at him. “But there were a lot of shots being aimed at her before she did that, almost as many as were fired at you.”

The implications of that were pretty obvious. “Colonel Morgan was a primary target, too? Why?”

“I believe, sir, that the attackers targeted her in error.”

Morgan, leaning back in her seat with one foot on the table, her leg extended in a way guaranteed to draw the eye, grinned. “You’re just jealous.”

“Not at all,” Malin said. “I’m certain they thought you were someone else.”

“Who else could she have been?” Drakon demanded.

“It was widely known that you met the new Alliance liaison officer on the main orbiting facility, and that she left in company with you and President Iceni. President Iceni’s shuttle landed, and she was seen leaving it alone. Your shuttle landed in a secure area, but one visible to long-distance snooping that would have identified a woman leaving the shuttle with you.”

“They thought I was walking Captain Bradamont around? Morgan doesn’t look anything like Bradamont.”

Malin gestured toward Morgan. “A wig, a uniform change, some other cosmetics, and their physical builds are close enough that an observer could conclude that the Alliance officer was the one accompanying you.”

“They thought I was that Alliance bitch?” Morgan asked. “Now I’m insulted.”

“Colonel Morgan…” Drakon began.

“Pardon me, sir,” Morgan replied. “I will endeavor to avoid using such language about our new friend and ally in the future.”

“We have IDs on the individuals Colonel Morgan took out,” Malin continued, bending his head briefly in Morgan’s direction. “They both belong to an extreme group called The People’s Word, which wants immediate, full democracy.”

Drakon scowled at that. “They want to elect all their leaders now?”

“No, sir. They don’t want any leaders. They want all decisions to be made by direct vote.”

Morgan’s laughter echoed scornfully from the walls. “Oh, yeah, that’ll work.”

“For once, I agree with Colonel Morgan,” Malin said. “However, the attackers’ affiliation with The People’s Word raises a big question. Their philosophy could explain their attack on you, General. It does not explain why they would target an Alliance officer.”

“They’d want that Alliance presence here, wouldn’t they?” Drakon asked, rubbing his chin.

“At the very least, they would regard her as sympathetic to their own agenda,” Malin agreed.

Morgan was pretending to examine her knife, testing the edge. “Where did these People’s Weird guys get the weapons they used to try to kill us?”

“You think there was a deal?” Drakon asked.

“Yes, sir.” Morgan balanced her knife, its point on her forefinger tip. “Somebody offered them the weapons to kill you in return for their agreeing to also take out the Alliance… woman.”

“That could be so,” Malin agreed.

“Or,” Morgan continued, “they planned to take out the woman in addition to you to make it look like an anti-Alliance hit that just happened to take you in as well.”

Malin glanced at Drakon. “Sir, I think we do have to assume you were both targets until we learn more.”

“Where were you, anyway?” Morgan asked, flipping her knife in one hand and catching it by the hilt.

“I was running down leads about the snakes, per General Drakon’s orders.”

Drakon nodded. “I knew where he was. Colonel Malin is not a suspect.”

“What about our President and her hatchet man Togo?”

“I don’t believe that President Iceni was involved,” Drakon said.

“With all due respect, sir,” Morgan said, “don’t believe isn’t the same as knowing.”

“I’m aware of that.” He must have made that statement with extra force because Morgan raised an eyebrow at him. “Colonel Malin, I want you to check on any possible connection between the President’s staff and the attempt to kill Colonel Morgan and me.”

“General?” Morgan said, her tone playful again. “What if they targeted you and me knowing it was me? Who would want to do that?” She smiled at Malin.

“Do you have any proof?” Drakon said.

“Not yet.”

“Nothing happens to anyone until you get proof, show me the proof, and get clear, unequivocal orders about what to do. Is that clear, Colonel Morgan?”

“Yes, sir.” She sat up, her eyes still on Malin, the knife now unmoving in her hand. “I’ll get proof.”

Iceni watched Captain Bradamont enter the room and stand before the long table behind which she and Drakon sat. Bradamont was on unfamiliar terrain, but she looked and acted as if she were in the most well-known and secure of environments. She is a dangerous woman. Is that all the code name Mantis referred to, or is there more that I haven’t seen yet? “Kommodor Marphissa has proposed that we undertake a long and hazardous mission. She said she did so on the basis of your information and recommendations,” Iceni said.

“That is correct,” Bradamont replied.

“I won’t play games with you, Captain. You know your presence here is valuable to us. You also surely know that your presence here creates some problems for us.”

“That was made very clear to me soon after I arrived,” Bradamont said, her eyes going to General Drakon where he sat next to Iceni. “I am sorry for the deaths that occurred in what might have been an attempted attack on me.”

Iceni made a short, angry gesture. “The motives, and targets, involved in that attack are still being investigated. But the incident does highlight our most critical concern. We cannot afford to be seen as lackeys to Admiral Geary.”

“Admiral Geary knows nothing of this proposal, Madam President.”

“You are talking about what we know. I am talking about what others will perceive.” Iceni tapped her data pad. “I have gone through Kommodor Marphissa’s proposal. She makes a good case for the benefits that could accrue to us from recovering the survivors of the Reserve Flotilla. She pays less attention to the potential risks, however.”

Bradamont shook her head slightly. “I have not seen the proposal myself. I don’t deny there are risks involved. There are ways to minimize those risks.”

“Yes, I know.” Iceni kept her expression nonrevealing as she turned to glance at the readout. “The Kommodor proposes to minimize the risks by taking two heavy cruisers, half of what we have, plus four light cruisers and six Hunter-Killers. Plus six freighters. Twelve warships and their crews, as well as the Kommodor commanding the flotilla that defends this star system. This is a huge investment for us.”

“The return, Madam President, would be even larger,” Bradamont said. “Admiral Geary asked me to suggest anything that could strengthen the defenses of this star system. You need those trained personnel, Madam President.”

Iceni wagged one remonstrative forefinger at Bradamont. “Never tell someone in charge what they need, Captain. I’ll decide what I need. I do admit there is a strong case to be made for the benefits to be gained from recovering those personnel. However, if they return to find this star system reconquered by the Syndicate, we will gain no benefits at all.”

“Do you wish me to speak bluntly, Madam President?”

Iceni leaned back, smiling tightly. “Please do.”

Bradamont nodded toward Iceni’s data pad. “Your entire force of warships is insufficient to defend this star system if the Syndicate Worlds sends another flotilla of the same strength as that CEO Boyens came here with. The one thing that will place you in a decent defensive position is your battleship, but only when it is completely outfitted, all of the weapons operational, and is properly crewed. You can outfit that ship, you can get the weapons operational, but can you find enough trained personnel to crew her?”

Drakon, who had seemed to be understandably preoccupied since the attempt on his life the day before, bent a glance Iceni’s way. He didn’t have to say anything. Drakon’s look clearly told her this is your call, not mine.

“Captain Bradamont,” Iceni said, “you know the threats any force from Midway would face as it went to Alliance space and returned. Yet we cannot possibly risk sending more of our very limited numbers of warships than Kommodor Marphissa has already proposed. We need to maintain a warship presence here in case someone other than the Syndicate tries something. What do we have that might balance the odds for the flotilla we send on this proposed mission?”

Bradamont frowned as she considered the question. “Kommodor Marphissa has displayed skill as a combat commander, Madam President.”

“Can she command a force as well as Black Jack?”

“No, but—”

“How much experience does Kommodor Marphissa have with Black Jack’s ways of fighting? His tactics? His ways of gaining victory under even unfavorable circumstances?”

Bradamont shook her head. “She does not have any of those things, Madam President. We have discussed them a bit, but there wasn’t time for extensive training.”

“But you do have that experience and that training,” Iceni said.

Bradamont finally showed uncertainty. Out of the corner of her eye, Iceni could see Drakon trying not to smile at her reaction. They had already talked this out, and it had been Drakon’s suggestion that had tilted Iceni toward her decision. “Your orders,” Iceni continued, “are to assist us as you believe appropriate. Do you, Captain Bradamont, consider assisting in the successful pickup and return of the prisoners from Varandal as falling within that mandate?”

“Madam President, your warships will not operate under my command. The crews won’t accept it. I had proof of that aboard Manticore.”

“Did I say you would command? I said assist. I will approve this proposal only if you, Captain Bradamont, agree to accompany my ships, not as commander but as adviser in matters tactical and political. Your mere physical presence accompanying the mission, a captain of the Alliance fleet, may be of great value. Your presence at Atalia and Varandal could be decisive in ensuring that our freighters are allowed access to Alliance space and successfully recover the survivors from the Reserve Flotilla.”

Bradamont paused, thinking, then nodded. “I agree with your reasoning, Madam President, and I believe this form of assistance falls within the orders given to me by Admiral Geary. I will accompany the mission.”

“Good,” Iceni said, a little disappointed at how easily she had been able to maneuver Bradamont into agreement. But then, the Alliance captain was a fleet officer, not an Alliance politician, and certainly not someone as cunning as Black Jack. “Prepare to leave immediately.”

“Immediately?” Bradamont’s gaze went from Iceni to Drakon. “The freighters will need to be prepared.”

“The freighters are standing by,” Drakon said. “We have six that were modified to carry troops when we assisted Taroa in its revolt against the Syndicate. We got back from that mission not long before the Syndicate flotilla showed up here, followed by the enigmas, then Black Jack, so we kept the freighters in orbit to use if we needed to evacuate some of the citizens.”

“I haven’t enjoyed having unused assets boring holes in space and through my budget while we waited to see if we needed them,” Iceni added. “But now they will come in very handy. It is critical that we get this operation moving fast. My technicians are of the opinion that the blocking of the Syndicate hypernet that Black Jack encountered does indeed shut down access to the gates affected. That means they can’t be used by the Syndicate, either, when they’re blocked. The Syndicate would only employ such a device in very specific circumstances for limited times because of the economic and military impact. But if they learn that we are planning this operation, they might again block our hypernet access to frustrate our attempt to gain thousands of trained mobile forces personnel.”

Drakon spoke up. “We’ll be sending soldiers along for security aboard the freighters after you pick up the Reserve Flotilla personnel. We don’t know if any snakes are among those captured personnel. We don’t know how many of those personnel will be more loyal to the Syndicate government than to the idea of joining us. It should be a minority, maybe a small minority, but we can’t have them in a position where some of them could seize control of one or more freighters. The ground forces personnel will be commanded by an officer of sufficient seniority to deal with any matters that arise.”

Drakon paused as Bradamont’s eyes fixed on him. “That officer will be Colonel Rogero.”

Bradamont smiled ruefully and shook her head. “I have too little experience in negotiating with Syndics.”

“We’re not Syndicate anymore, Captain,” Drakon said, “which is why I will also tell you that you’ll be on one of the heavy cruisers along with the Kommodor, and Colonel Rogero will be on one of the freighters. Until you reach Atalia. Then you’ll transfer to Colonel Rogero’s ship.”

“So near yet so far?” Bradamont asked. “You don’t need to send Colonel Rogero, General. I already agreed to go.”

“Rogero’s going,” Drakon said. “Because he’s the best officer for the mission and because I know you and he can work together to get this done.”

Iceni nodded. “That was General Drakon’s judgment, and I have agreed with his reasoning. The fact that you have proven your ability to work with Kommodor Marphissa is also a factor in my decision. Do you have any questions? No? If there is anything you feel is needed for this mission to succeed that you do not have, inform me or General Drakon personally. Now, I have one question for you that does not pertain to this mission. When Black Jack first came to this star system he gave his rank as fleet admiral. It has been brought to my attention,” she added with a sidelong look at Drakon, “that he has consistently referred to himself as admiral and worn an Alliance admiral’s insignia during the last two times he was here. Are you aware of the circumstances behind the use of a lower rank by Black Jack?”

“Everyone in the fleet knows that, Madam President,” Bradamont replied. “He was a fleet admiral during the final campaign of the war with the Syndicate Worlds, but his current rank is admiral.”

“Which is a lower rank than fleet admiral?” Iceni pressed. “Captain Bradamont, why is Black Jack using a lower rank than he did when his fleet first repelled the enigmas from this star system?”

“He reverted to captain when we returned to Alliance space after that engagement, then he was promoted back to admiral.”

“Why?” Iceni asked, not bothering to hide her bafflement.

“I don’t know all of the reasons, but I know the reversion to captain rank was at least partly a personal matter.”

“A personal matter?”

“Captain Desjani,” Bradamont said, as if that explained everything.

“Who is?” Iceni prompted.

“Geary’s wife. Captain Tanya Desjani.” Bradamont looked from Iceni to Drakon. “You hadn’t heard? I assumed Syndic intelligence would have learned that. It’s no secret in Alliance space. Not at all.”

Iceni stared at Bradamont. “We are a long ways from Alliance space, Captain Bradamont, and Syndicate intelligence isn’t in the habit of forwarding reports to star systems in rebellion. Admiral Geary was interested in a subordinate? And instead of just sleeping with her, he accepted a lower rank to legitimize it?”

Bradamont’s expression didn’t change, but her posture stiffened. “Regulations in the Alliance fleet do not permit relations between officers and their subordinates in the chain of command.”

“We have similar rules,” Iceni said, openly amused. “Those with power don’t need to pay attention to them.”

She noticed that Drakon didn’t quite avoid a flinch at that. Feeling guilty about your drunken roll in the hay with that crazy female Morgan at Taroa, General? You should feel guilty. Or are you just afraid that I’ll learn about it, not knowing I already have?

“Admiral Geary behaved with honor,” Bradamont replied. “He is a man of honor as our ancestors understood it. Admiral Geary and Captain Desjani followed the rules and regulations of the fleet and acted honorably.”

“I see. Thank you, Captain. Once you’ve been escorted back to General Drakon’s headquarters, get in touch with Colonel Rogero. He’ll work you into the troop lifts up to the freighters.”

Iceni watched Bradamont leave. “Have you noticed that even when that Alliance officer is at her most relaxed with us, there is still a barrier?”

“That’s scarcely surprising,” Drakon replied. “To her, we still look like the enemy.”

“I don’t think it’s just that. Kommodor Marphissa and Kapitan-Leytenant Kontos in their reports to me both said they did not feel Bradamont was holding back on them. Yet I see that sense of reserve in her when dealing with us.”

Drakon snorted derisively. “Kommodor Marphissa was a lower-midranked executive. She didn’t make decisions, but she paid the price for decisions made by her superiors. That’s even more true of Kontos. You and I were CEOs, part of the hierarchy of the Syndicate Worlds. We called the shots.”

“Not as much as we would have liked to,” Iceni said, her voice subdued.

“Yeah. That’s why we’re here. But it’s not surprising that, to an Alliance officer, we’re in a different category from more junior personnel. We were CEOs. We did things.”

She looked back at him for a while before answering, trying to sort out her feelings. “I did what I had to do. So did you.”

“Yeah,” Drakon repeated.

Only one word, yet the feeling behind it came through clearly to Iceni. A feeling she understood all too well. “I did what I had to do” isn’t what anyone would want carved on their memorial. Unhappy at the direction the conversation had taken, Iceni gestured upward. “The Syndicate is ahead of us on tricks with the hypernet. I have a strong feeling the Alliance is even farther behind than we are.”

“A feeling?” Drakon pressed.

“There are some facts. Black Jack wanted the device from me that would keep a gate from being collapsed by remote command. That meant the Alliance didn’t have it.”

“You gave him that?”

She paused, then nodded, not looking at him. “Yes. It was a deal.”

“Are there any other deals?”

Iceni turned her head to look directly into his eyes. “None that you are unaware of. I made that deal with Black Jack before we revolted, Artur. I couldn’t coordinate it with you, I couldn’t even talk to you about it, not with the snakes still everywhere. Do you know what I find most intriguing about that interview with Captain Bradamont?” It was a very clumsy change of subject. Why am I never at my best with Drakon anymore? He’s rattling me for some reason.

Drakon didn’t call her on the awkward segue though. “No. What did you find intriguing?”

“The bit about Black Jack’s rank. Despite Captain Bradamont’s impassioned defense of his honor, Black Jack must have manipulated his rank to technically avoid violating Alliance rules about marrying a subordinate. But why? Why bother with the theater? Why did he then choose only to advance back to the rank of admiral? And what do we know about this Captain Desjani?”

Drakon poked in a query. “Battle cruiser captain. Dauntless. Rated highly effective based on what we were able to learn of her. As a lieutenant, led a boarding party in an operation that won her the Alliance Fleet Cross. That’s about it. No, wait. In the report Morgan and Malin gave me when they got back from talking to Black Jack to set up that trick we pulled on Boyens. Captain Desjani was there. Black Jack insisted that she be present. That confirms the relationship that Bradamont told us about.”

Iceni rested her chin on one hand as she thought. “The whole show must have something to do with Alliance rules and protocol. Maybe he had to justify what he did to their fleet and their citizens. How that translated into playing games with rank, I don’t know. Maybe, with time, Captain Bradamont will tell us more about it. I didn’t want to push her during this meeting. She’s acting very open with us, as if there’s not a secret in her pretty little head. But she has a hidden agenda. People always have hidden agendas.”

He took a few moments to reply, looking steadily toward the far wall, then finally glanced at Iceni. “My first impressions of her were that she was exactly what she looked like. Not much hidden. I’ve talked to Colonel Rogero again since then, and he says she is trustworthy. That evaluation means a lot in my mind.”

Iceni laughed sharply before she could stop herself. “A man in love trusts the object of his affections? Just how many tragedies have been set into motion by that?”

“That’s… a point.”

Iceni gave him another searching look. “What I just said didn’t make you happy.”

“Is it that obvious?” Drakon shrugged. “You know Colonel Gaiene. That is, you know who he is now.”

“A drunken letch who always seems to be seeking out the next woman to share his bed. But I saw the reports for Taroa. He was highly effective. Are you saying he trusted the wrong woman?”

“In combat, he can forget for a few moments. But it wasn’t a matter of betrayed trust. It was exactly the opposite.” Drakon grimaced, clearly unhappy at the memories this conversation was calling up. “Here’s the quick and dirty. Lara was a major in another unit. She and Conner Gaiene never had eyes for anyone else. Conner’s outfit got caught in an ambush and were being cut to ribbons. I had my hands full repulsing a major counterattack. Somehow, Lara pulled together all of the soldiers close to her and punched through to Gaiene. She saved Conner and about half of his unit, but she never knew that because she died during the final push that broke through the Alliance forces trapping him.”

“Oh.” Iceni looked away and didn’t speak for several seconds. “That’s why he’s like that.”

“Yes. Conner Gaiene had his dream woman once. Just about every day I’m reminded of what happened to him when he lost her.”

“And you don’t want to see that happen to Colonel Rogero.”

“No. If this Bradamont is bad, and I don’t think she is, she’d hurt him. If she’s as good as she seems, she could hurt him a lot worse.”

“Not every man falls apart when he loses a woman,” Iceni said. Have you avoided relationships out of fear of that, Artur Drakon? The snakes and the Syndicate couldn’t break you, but you worry that a woman could? “You must have lost someone in the past.”

“This isn’t about me,” Drakon objected, a little too fast and a little too emphatically.

“What if it were?”

He looked down, away, then back at her. “It isn’t.”

“Then you listen to me, Artur Drakon,” Iceni said heatedly. “From what you say, this Lara was an exceptional woman who gave her all to save the life of the man she loved. And that man has rewarded her sacrifice by wasting the life she died to save. If I ever gave my life to save a man I loved, that man had damned well better live the rest of his life in a manner that justifies the sacrifice that I made for him! Is that clear?”

Drakon looked steadily back at her. “Absolutely clear. Why do I need to know that?”

“I don’t know! But now you do. Be certain that you do not forget it.”

“I won’t.”

She sat alone in the room for a while after Drakon had left, staring at the display but not really seeing it. Why am I more upset about the attempt on his life than I am about the bomb aimed at me?

It’s because I do like that big lunk. He’s a better man than he realizes he is. He’s—

I like him too much.

You can’t do this, Gwen. Mixing personal feelings and politics is a guarantee for disaster. He is a man, and he obviously doesn’t have any particular feelings for me, so he would either use my feelings to get what he wants, or if he’s not quite that awful, he would laugh at me. Either of those would be better than his feeling pity for me because he couldn’t return such feelings. I will never accept pity from anyone.

Never.

The hopefully named Recovery Flotilla had departed only the day before. Drakon had watched it go, taking along with it not only Colonel Rogero and six platoons from his brigade, but also a substantial portion of the warships available to defend this star system. The Alliance captain had been right. Even all of the warships they had couldn’t adequately protect Midway. But that was something the brain knew. The gut still watched those warships go and felt the desperate need to call them back.

And, inevitably, because the universe seems to enjoy mocking the hopes and the plans of mere humans, a freighter carrying urgent news had arrived at the jump point from Maui Star System within an hour of the departure of the Recovery Flotilla.

Which was why he was once again meeting with Gwen Iceni, who had seemed unusually irritable since their last one-on-one meeting. This time, though, Colonel Malin was briefing them while Iceni’s assistant Togo watched with the closest thing to disapproval his deadpan expression ever revealed.

“The news from Maui concerns the Supreme CEO in Ulindi Star System,” Malin reported.

“Supreme CEO?” Drakon checked the star display. Ulindi was one of three stars that could be reached from Maui. Another one of those stars was Midway itself. “What does that mean?”

“I’d say it was pretty self-explanatory,” Iceni commented shortly.

Malin, experienced in dealing with superiors who didn’t always get along with each other, continued speaking as if he hadn’t heard the remark. “From what we have learned despite all attempts to keep anyone from finding out what is happening at Ulindi, it means that CEO Haris managed to kill the other CEOs in that star system and overawe all opposition.”

Drakon squinted at his display, mistrusting what he was reading. “Haris is the snake CEO. How did he get the Syndicate government to sign off on a title like Supreme CEO?”

“Haris is no longer answering to the Syndicate government.”

“A senior snake rebelled?”

“Yes, sir.”

Drakon looked toward Iceni. “Do you know Haris at all?”

She shook her head. “No. I never associated with snakes.” Relenting a bit, she added more. “Even snakes can be ambitious. This Haris might have seen his chances of gaining more power falling away with every star system that left Syndicate control.”

“So he decided to start his own little empire?”

Malin brought up a new image on the display. “General, reports from Maui say there is a strong flotilla there from Ulindi. It was on its way to the jump point for Midway, but halted that movement when merchant ships arrived reporting the presence of the Alliance fleet. That news was outdated when they got it. Black Jack had left Midway soon after the freighters carrying the news to Maui.”

“It bought us time,” Iceni said. “Good.”

“A little time. It leaves us with six days to act, Madam President,” Malin explained. “A freighter headed for Rongo via Maui left Midway three days ago, doubtless taking word of Black Jack’s departure with it. The freighter would have taken four and one-half days in jump space to reach Maui, would have passed on its information, and the Ulindi flotilla would have headed for the jump point for Midway. It would probably be half a day before they reached it and jumped for Midway, after which another four and half days would bring them here. Factoring in everything, the Ulindi flotilla should arrive six days from now.”

“That is very little time,” Iceni complained. “I can’t argue with your timeline, though. They won’t delay any longer once they hear that Black Jack is gone. Apparently, Haris wants to expand his little empire. But that flotilla at Maui does not look like a force aimed at conquering this star system.”

“No, Madam President, it is not. The Ulindi flotilla consists of a single C-class battle cruiser and four Hunter-Killers. If there are ground forces embarked, their numbers are very limited.”

“No ground forces?” Drakon pondered that. A flotilla built around a battle cruiser could do a lot of damage to a star system. But it couldn’t take over that star system. Even if Midway surrendered under the threat of bombardment, Ulindi’s control of this star would last only as long as it took the battle cruiser to leave. “How much else does Ulindi have?”

“According to our best information, only one heavy cruiser, which must have remained at Ulindi to protect Haris. The ground forces at Ulindi total perhaps a division, but most of that is recently raised and barely trained. Less than a single brigade of former Syndicate soldiers form the core of Haris’s ground forces. The rest of internal security at Ulindi is handled by local militia, police, and snakes.”

“Not much to build an empire on. That sounds like barely enough to maintain control of Ulindi. What’s he planning then?”

Drakon had addressed the question to both Iceni and Malin. Iceni frowned and spoke first. “He must know that we intervened at Taroa. Maybe he heard about our push to get a much tighter defense agreement with Taroa even though the government there is supposed to be keeping it secret.”

Malin shook his head. “Our offer to Taroa is widely known all over that star system. More than one Free Taroan government official must have talked freely.”

“Which means Haris heard about it,” Drakon said.

Iceni made a fist and almost slammed it onto the table before controlling herself. “I should have realized that trying to tie Taroa much more closely to us would cause local problems. Haris sees us as a threat to his ambitions and wants to hit our mobile forces before we can take advantage of Taroa’s resources as well.”

“That makes sense,” Drakon agreed. “Anyone planning on empire-building out here could well see us as rivals who need to be taken down as soon as possible.”

Malin spoke diffidently. “There is another possibility given the composition of the Ulindi flotilla. In Kommodor Marphissa’s absence I discussed the situation with Kapitan-Leytenant Kontos.”

“You did?” Drakon glanced at Iceni again. “What did Kontos say?”

“He thinks they want the battleship.”