Perilous Shield

Chapter Eleven

“They betrayed us?” Lieutenant Colonel Safir asked Gaiene.

“I doubt it.” Gaiene hoped he was right about that and about his evaluation of Kapitan Stein. When it came to judging women, or men for that matter, he wasn’t always successful.

Five minutes and four seconds later, the battle cruiser came to a stop relative to the battleship, only about fifty meters separating the sides of the two massive vessels. Openings suddenly gaped in the hull facing the battleship as the battle cruiser opened all four of its cargo hatches on this side, openings five meters high and ten meters wide, which were almost immediately obscured by a flurry of shapes coming out on trajectories aimed at where similar still-sealed hatches could be found on the outer hull of the battleship.

Gaiene and part of his brigade waited patiently behind one such hatch, other portions of his brigade behind other hatches, close to a thousand soldiers in full battle armor with weapons at ready. He would have liked to have more, but one freighter could only carry so many (life support had been almost overloaded on their way to the gas giant as it was), and a thousand should be enough.

“All scouts launch,” Gaiene ordered.

Clinging to the outside of the battleship’s hull where they had taken position half an hour ago were scouts in stealth armor, invisible to the attackers. At Gaiene’s command, those scouts pushed themselves toward the battleship, passing unseen through the oncoming ranks of the Ulindi boarding party and toward the big hatches on the battle cruiser from which the attackers had come.

Spotting and counting objects was one of the things automated sensors were very good at. Within seconds, the battleship’s sensors reported the result. Seven hundred and twenty. “Almost half the crew of the battle cruiser,” Safir commented.

“Excellent,” Gaiene agreed.

The impacts of a bit more than seven hundred attackers coming to a halt on the battleship’s hull couldn’t be felt by humans in armor, but once again the battleship’s sensors reported the arrival of the boarding party, pinpointing the positions of all of them and passing that information on to the combat systems in the soldiers’ armor. Gaiene watched, feeling his excitement ramp up, enjoying what he knew would be brief sensations of being truly alive.

The attackers attached overrides to the hatch controls on the battleship. Other attackers waited nearby with breaching charges to use if necessary, but Gaiene knew those would not be needed. Kontos had set the hatch controls to yield easily to the hacking. He didn’t want his new battleship scratched up any more than necessary.

“Stand by,” Gaiene said, feeling a deepening awareness of his heart beating and his breath flowing in and out. His hands gripped his pulse rifle, feeling metal and composites and death under their touch. “Follow the assault plan. All units, weapons green.”

He knelt to provide a steadier aim, leveling his weapon at the hatch before him as it swung open. On either side of him, hundreds of other weapons came to bear on the hatch. The battleship hatches, burdened by much more armor than those of a battle cruiser’s hull, moved more slowly than those of the other warship but still opened with gratifying speed.

The attackers came swarming in at all four hatches in a coordinated assault that would have swamped the number of defenders expected aboard the battleship. Among the boarding party were only two squads of special forces in armor like that of Gaiene’s soldiers, heavily armed and trained for face-to-face combat. As was usually the case, the rest of the boarding party were crew from the battle cruiser in survival suits and carrying a variety of hand weapons. All of the attackers were expecting to face a meager number of defenders similarly lightly armed and lightly protected. As they entered the battleship, the attackers were forced to bunch up at the hatches, coming in from the top, the bottom, and both sides, silhouetted against empty space behind them, forming perfect targets.

Gaiene’s sight automatically zoomed in on his target, a single figure in a survival suit, clean and clear and bright in the rifle’s sight. He forgot everything else for a moment, forgot the past, forgot the pain, felt only the unholy joy of having a clean shot and a powerful weapon and the sensation of his hand tightening as his finger squeezed the trigger, then the shock as the weapon fired and the target jerked from the impact of a hit that blew open the suit and tore a hole through the chest of the unfortunate man or woman who wore it.

He instinctively sought a second target, but the rest of his soldiers had opened fire at the same moment as their colonel, and there were very few targets left.

Of the seven hundred twenty attackers in the boarding party who had tried to board through the four cargo hatches, over six hundred died in the first volley.

“Forward!” Gaiene shouted.

As the survivors of the attack force tried to gather their wits, Gaiene’s thousand hurled themselves forward, overrunning and annihilating the remnants of the attackers, then launching themselves without hesitating into open space toward the battle cruiser.

Fifty meters is not a large distance, even when measured against the standards of a planet’s surface. In space, it is nothing, unless it is the distance between you and safety, between you and your target, between life and death. Men and women who had literally jumped off one ship to hurl themselves toward the other crossed that fifty meters in only a few seconds that felt much, much longer. Sufficiently alert sentries in the battle cruiser’s cargo holds could have seen them coming, could have slammed shut the outer hatches in that brief time available, possibly giving the battle cruiser time to accelerate away before the soldiers could breach those outer hatches.

But the few sentries posted at the battle cruiser’s outer hatches were all dead and dying, slain by Gaiene’s scouts, whose presence the guards had never suspected until too late.

Gaiene felt a dizzy sense of elation and disorientation as a brief stretch of star-littered space flew past, infinity on all sides, the hull of the battleship forming an armored wall behind him and that of the battle cruiser an expanse before him, the cargo-loading dock that was his objective growing very quickly before him as if he were falling into it. He barely had time to override the panicked reaction of his instincts, keeping his sense of orientation—It is ahead of me, not beneath me—then he had plummeted inside the loading dock he had aimed for on the battle cruiser, landing with a practiced ease that kept him on his feet, weapon ready for immediate use. His soldiers had varying amounts of experience with the maneuvers required to leap from one artificial gravity field through a gap of zero gravity and land in another artificial gravity field. Some kept their feet like Gaiene, some skidded to a running halt, and others tumbled, rolling along the deck before scrambling to their feet. The least experienced hit hard, flailing, disoriented and confused by the abrupt shifts in where up and down were.

Against strong defenses at the hatches, Gaiene’s troops might have taken significant losses as they hit the deck with varied degrees of skill. But the battle cruiser’s commander had seen no need to leave strong forces at the hatches, instead throwing his entire assault force into the attack. Before the battle cruiser crew realized what was happening, more than seven hundred of their comrades were dead and nearly a thousand armored soldiers were inside the hull of their ship. A battle cruiser constructed by the Syndicate Worlds, whose deck plans had been easily available to help Gaiene prepare this counterattack, whose operating systems, hardware, and software were as well-known to the soldiers of Midway as they were to the crew of the battle cruiser.

Gaiene moved past the bodies of two dead sentries as the outer hatches finally swung shut, this time under the command of his own soldiers. “Try to keep from blowing out the atmosphere in the ship,” Drakon had ordered. “The mobile forces people say their ships can handle vacuum inside, but it can make a real mess, and we’re supposed to take this ship as intact as possible.”

Some of Gaiene’s troops had attached small Bedlam Boxes to the comm terminals and sensors in the loading docks, the devices generating a stream of misleading and deceptive messages, warnings, and reassurances into the sensors and internal comm systems of the battle cruiser. The officers and crew of the ship, trying to figure out what was happening and where, would waste precious moments trying to grasp the situation as confusing data poured in.

The instant the outer hatches sealed and safety interlocks glowed green, his soldiers got the inner hatches open and began pouring into the passageways of the battle cruiser.

In places where emergency locks had been activated in time, breaching charges blew out those inner hatches, a delay of only a few more seconds before the rest of Gaiene’s forces were heading for their objectives. “Remember the General’s orders,” Gaiene broadcast. “Give the crew members a chance to surrender if you have time.”

Gaiene was one of the first out of the loading dock where he had landed, finding himself facing a half-dozen crew members of the battle cruiser who had been racing toward the dock. A single shot ricocheted off of Gaiene’s battle armor before he and the soldiers closest to him opened fire and riddled the sailors through their relatively flimsy survival suits. “Didn’t have time,” the sergeant nearest Gaiene noted apologetically.

“No. But that was their own fault,” Gaiene said, as his column moved along the passageways. The interior of a warship could be a maze to someone unfamiliar with it, but the heads-up displays on the soldiers’ armor provided clear maps of the routes they needed to take to their objectives, with occasional helpful reminders such as “turn right here and take the next ladder down.”

Gaiene’s column shrank as squads peeled off but remained strong since his ultimate objective was the battle cruiser’s bridge, securely nestled deep inside the hull. Alarms had begun blaring through the ship, interspersed with frantic orders shouted into the general announcing circuit.

“Most of the remaining crew are at their duty stations,” Lieutenant Colonel Safir reported. “We’re rolling them up.”

“There are a few wandering around loose,” Gaiene warned, as his own column encountered another group of sailors still trying to scramble into survival suits. For an instant the two groups stared at each other, then the sailors’ hands bolted upward, coming to rest palm first on their heads as they slammed their backs against the bulkheads. “Good lads,” Gaiene told them. “Leave a fire team here to guard this batch,” he ordered the sergeant.

The next group of crew members they ran into was either more highly motivated or simply had a lot less common sense. Weapons carried by the crew members swung to bear, but before they could fire, Gaiene’s soldiers opened up and wiped out the pocket of resistance, the soldiers scarcely pausing in their movement, rushing onward as the last of the dead crew members were still falling limply to the deck.

Gaiene kept one eye on the directions to the bridge his heads-up display was providing, used his other eye to monitor the progress of the whole assault on another portion of his heads-up display, and used his other eye to watch for immediate danger. “That’s three eyes,” a young Conner Gaiene had protested to the veteran who had told him what commanding an assault required. The veteran had smiled sadly. “By the time you reach command, if you’re any good, you’ll know how to make two eyes do the work of three. Or you’ll die.”

Gaiene hadn’t died though that particular veteran had, not long after imparting some painfully acquired wisdom to him. It sometimes bothered Gaiene that he had trouble remembering what the woman had looked like before an Alliance bombardment projectile had blown her into tiny pieces.

“Looking good,” Safir’s voice reported to Gaiene.

The brigade was seizing more and more of the ship, resistance in most places crumbling as what was happening became clear to the survivors in the crew. “Don’t relax,” Gaiene warned everyone. “Mobile forces can fight well when their backs are to the wall, and there are supposed to be a lot of snakes aboard this can.”

“We found some of them!” a unit leader warned on the heels of Gaiene’s words. “Snakes!” Brighter symbols popped up in an area far from Gaiene, showing a bastion of resistance where Internal Security Service agents were putting up a fierce fight near the central weapons-control citadel.

“Handle that, Safir,” Gaiene directed. Weapons control was Safir’s objective, so she was already in that area.

Battle cruisers were almost as large as battleships but longer and leaner, presenting an apparently endless series of passageways leading to an apparently endless series of more passageways. The command staff in the battle cruiser’s bridge citadel had awoken to their peril and were trying to lock isolation and blast barriers in place to seal off routes through the ship, but Gaiene’s soldiers had brought the means to either blow holes through those barriers or locally override the lock commands.

Shouts of triumph erupted across the command circuit. Annoyed by the noise, Gaiene checked his display and saw that the nest of snakes had been eliminated. All dead, of course. General Drakon might issue orders that opponents be allowed to surrender, but snakes rarely tried to surrender and, if they did, were killed by vengeful soldiers anyway. The General surely wouldn’t mind, as he knew as well as the rest of them did that snakes occupied a different category than regular forces did.

Gaiene and the soldiers with him ran past a group of crew members waving enthusiastic greetings and bloodied implements. At their feet lay two others, both newly dead, both wearing the standard suits for Internal Security Service snakes. Another fire team broke off to guard the new volunteers who had formerly worked for Supreme CEO Haris before tendering their resignations in blood.

Most of the ship had been overrun, the survivors of the crew being herded into compartments under guard, but the three citadels were locked down, armor sealed and defenses active. While the controls on another blast door were hacked, Gaiene paused, evaluating the situation.

Main propulsion-control citadel, weapons-control citadel, bridge citadel. The last-ditch defensive barriers put in place on Syndicate ships to defend against enemy boarding parties, as well as against mutiny by crews of workers who lacked loyalty to their masters and were kept in line by discipline, fear, and the ever-present snakes of the ISS. “How does it look, Safir?”

Lieutenant Colonel Safir sounded annoyed. “Not too bad. We lost some people taking out the snake stronghold. The power core has been overrun and the remote operating cables cut, so the snakes or the other Ulindis can’t overload it. I think the propulsion citadel will surrender, but I’m guessing we’ll have to crack open the weapons citadel.”

“Get into the weapons citadel and make sure they can’t fire on the battleship, which they may realize they can attempt if they are given time to think. I’m closing in on the bridge citadel,” Gaiene said. The blast barrier blocking him whooshed open, and he took off at a trot, surrounded by the soldiers with him, their movements in the power-assisted armor oddly dainty as they used the gliding steps most effective inside a warship’s confined spaces. “I’ll give the bridge crew a chance to do this the easy way as soon as I get into position.”

Danger signs popped up on Gaiene’s display, warning that the defenses around the bridge citadel were near. He had the means to break those defenses and get into the citadel, but that would cost time and lives as well as messing up parts of this ship. Gaiene ordered the soldiers with him to halt in a safe area outside the bridge-citadel defenses and looked around for a comm panel. “Here we are. Bridge. Acknowledge, you fools.”

The panel lit to show a mobile forces officer in the command seat on the bridge. Gaiene knew the look in the man’s eyes. He had seen it many times before. Disbelief. Shock. Fear. Confusion. That look meant Gaiene had to keep pushing, keep the man from recovering, keep him from thinking clearly. “We have your unit under our control and will soon breach your citadels. However, in the interest of avoiding excessive damage, we are willing to offer you the chance to surrender, open the citadels, and deactivate their defenses. If you surrender, you will be allowed to live, and given your freedom. We’ll keep our word. We’re not snakes. Every snake in this star system is dead. If you refuse to surrender, and we have to blast our way in, there will be no mercy shown, and your dead bodies will be tossed into space. Or perhaps you’ll only be mostly dead when we toss you into space. We’ll keep that promise as well. Make your decision now. I am not a patient man.”

Shouting could be heard in the background of the bridge citadel while the battle cruiser’s commander stared at Gaiene. After several seconds Gaiene prodded him. “Now. Surrender or die. I won’t ask a third time.”

The man looked toward something behind him and must have seen what he needed to see, since he turned back to face Gaiene and nodded in a jerky fashion. “I agree. Surrender. I surrender the ship.” A hand that Gaiene could see was trembling danced spasmodically over the controls at the command seat. “Deactivating defenses.”

“Make sure the other citadels do the same.”

“I don’t have control of the weapons citadel! Haris’s snakes are in there!”

“Lieutenant Colonel Safir, the weapons citadel is occupied by snakes. You will have to take that one the hard way.”

Safir replied with grim satisfaction. “I thought so. Everything’s ready. Commencing assault.”

The danger markers on Gaiene’s display were winking out as defenses around the bridge citadel shut down. He gestured, and several soldiers scuttled forward, around the corner of the passageway and toward the massive armored hatch sealing off the bridge.

No attacks erupted from hidden traps, so Gaiene and the rest of his soldiers followed, additional units closing in on the bridge from other sides and the decks above and below it. Armor and defenses were in place in those locations, too, but the ship’s commander appeared to be abiding by his agreement to surrender.

Vibration could be felt as the heavy bolts holding the hatch locked ponderously retracted, then the hatch itself pulled back.

Soldiers stormed inside, their weapons ready. Gaiene came with them, a last rush of adrenaline fueling the elation of victory.

The bridge crew were standing with raised arms, hands resting on their heads, most of them at their duty stations. But several were gathered around the spot where a man and a woman in the standard suits of the ISS lay on the deck. Gaiene gave the snakes a dismissive glance that took in the unnatural angles of their heads that bespoke broken necks. “Make sure they’re dead,” he ordered one of the officers with him. “Make sure everyone else up here is disarmed, then get them down to one of the holding areas. Lieutenant Bulgori, get on the comm controls and let the battleship know we have the bridge of this unit and will soon have the rest in hand.”

A series of faint shocks registered through the hull of the battle cruiser. Gaiene switched his attention and his display to a close-up on Lieutenant Colonel Safir’s portion of the brigade. The defenses outside the weapons-control citadel had been destroyed, allowing soldiers to get close enough to place breaching charges powerful enough to defeat even the protection around a citadel. The shocks had marked holes being blown in the armor guarding the citadel, and now antipersonnel and electromagnetic-pulse grenades were being fired in through the openings, followed by assault forces with rifles blazing.

A few snakes were still standing, their outlines barely visible through the murk created in the weapons-control citadel by the breaching charges and grenades. Gaiene barely had time to focus on the remote images before the shapes of the snakes were torn ragged by scores of shots and tossed aside.

“We have the propulsion-control and weapons-control citadels,” Safir reported. “Propulsion surrendered as soon as their defenses deactivated.”

“Thank you,” Gaiene replied. “I fear we’re going to hear some complaints from our shipyard people about the damage to the weapons-control area.”

“We did try to minimize the damage,” Safir said with a grin.

“Yes, but the repair people will be unreasonable. You know how they are. You broke it. It’s our job to break things, but they never understand that. Speaking of jobs, you did a good one as second-in-command, fulfilling every expectation of your superiors in the finest tradition of etc., etc., etc. Let’s get the internal sensors back online and make certain there aren’t any crew members hiding in out-of-the-way places.”

“We’re on it, Colonel. It looks like we captured between four and five hundred crew members. This ship was a little short-handed.”

“Not as much as it is now.”

“We have comms with the Midway,” Lieutenant Bulgori reported. “A minute after our attack began, Gryphon and Basilisk opened fire at close range on the four HuKs escorting this battle cruiser. Three of them were destroyed, and the fourth surrendered after taking propulsion damage.”

Thank you, Kapitan Stein. A pity you don’t seem inclined to celebrate our victory with me in a very inappropriate fashion. Gaiene looked around, weary, sensing the color flowing out of the world once more. They had won. It didn’t really matter, nothing really mattered, but at least the attack had provided a momentary lift to his deadened spirits. And it had provided a victory for Artur Drakon, who had kept him from dying in a labor camp or a gutter. It was all as good as anything could be in a universe that had ceased to hold meaning.

The commander’s seat on the battle cruiser’s bridge lay vacant and somehow forlorn. Gaiene walked over to it and sat down, half of his mind monitoring his soldiers as they went about the business of making secure the battle cruiser they had just captured, and the other half wondering how long it would be before he could get drunk again. Secure the ship, turn it over to the mobile forces people, then find out where the shipyard workers kept their booze.

It was always good to plan things out.

Given how their last private conversation had ended, Drakon was surprised to see Iceni smiling at him when she called on their secure line.

“I wanted to thank you, General, for my lovely new battle cruiser.”

“Your lovely new battle cruiser?” Drakon asked.

“Now, don’t spoil the present by getting tightfisted.” Iceni smiled wider. “I may be a witch at times, but I’m not an ungrateful witch. In all seriousness, I know I owe this to your soldiers and your decision to participate in the operation. Once we get the battle cruiser back in shape and the battleship operational, we’ll have a defense for this star system that will knock Boyens on his butt if he shows up here again.”

“Colonel Gaiene said there wasn’t much damage to the battle cruiser,” Drakon said.

She laughed, a sound he found unexpectedly pleasant after their strained relationship of recent weeks. “That’s a ground forces assessment. Your soldiers, and I know they had no choice, trashed some important equipment, blew out a lot of hatches, and even blew some holes in bulkheads that aren’t supposed to have holes in them. That all has to be fixed. Most of the survivors among the crew appear willing to join us, but there aren’t that many survivors compared to the size of the crew a battle cruiser needs.”

“If we’re lucky, Colonel Rogero and your Kommodor will solve that problem. They should be bringing back enough veterans to crew both Midway and the new battle cruiser.”

“Yes. What should we name it, Artur?” She gave him a happily inquiring look. “I named the battleship. You should give a name to our new battle cruiser.”

“Really?” Gwen was in a good mood. Of course, he couldn’t expect to produce a battle cruiser for her every time she got inexplicably moody, but, hopefully, that wouldn’t be necessary too often. “Do you want to name battle cruisers after stars, too?”

“I think it would be a good idea. But…” Iceni pursed her lips in thought. “If we name the ship after one of the nearby stars, they might either take that as an indication we feel a sense of ownership toward them or give them the mistaken impression that they have some rights to the battle cruiser.”

“That’s a concern,” Drakon agreed. “How about if we name the battle cruiser after a star nobody occupies? Pele.”

“Pele? A star occupied by the enigmas?”

“The enigmas kicked the Syndicate out of Pele,” Drakon said, “but according to what Black Jack’s fleet found, there’s no enigma presence there.”

“Hmmm.” Iceni looked sideways, considering. “We are the frontline defense of humanity against the enigmas. Declaring some sort of tie to Pele would emphasize that.”

“It might not please the enigmas,” Drakon felt constrained to point out.

“Who the hell cares what pleases the enigmas? Who the hell knows what pleases the enigmas? Even Black Jack couldn’t find out. The enigmas just keep attacking us and tried to depopulate this entire planet.” Iceni nodded. “I’m good with Pele. And I will freely admit that you were right in your assessment of Colonel Gaiene. Kapitan-Leytenant Kontos was very leery of your colonel, but was awestruck by how well he and his unit carried out the capture of the battle cruiser.” Her smile became tentative. “I’m going to have to learn to… trust… your assessments.”

Trust? And she hadn’t used the word in a mocking way. “Are you sure?”

The smile faded away completely, replaced by a serious gaze at him. “No. I may never be sure. Can you live with that?”

“I have so far.”

“You’ve lived with far worse than that from me, General Drakon, even if you seem curiously unable to figure out such things. But you pushed me to approve an action that has left me in a far stronger position. Either you truly intend to work alongside me without betrayal, or you are the biggest fool in the history of humanity, or you are far more subtle and cunning than Black Jack.”

Drakon smiled sardonically. “I don’t think I’m a fool. Not usually, anyway. And I know I’m not Black Jack.”

“A man doesn’t have to be Black Jack to be important to— To this star system,” Iceni finished. “Thank you again, Artur.”

It was only after she had signed off that Drakon realized Iceni had been worried. Was that why she had been so upset at their last meeting—because she had known that if the attack on the battle cruiser succeeded, Drakon’s own soldiers would then have control of the most powerful warship in the star system? She hadn’t known for certain that he would abide by their agreement, their partnership, and turn the battle cruiser over to Iceni’s mobile forces personnel as soon as the warship was confirmed secure.

Why didn’t it even occur to me that I could have double-crossed her and ended up with both the most powerful mobile forces and ground forces here? But it didn’t. We made a deal. I don’t break deals. Even when someone is being as unpleasant and cold as…

She’s not going to betray me. If Iceni had planned to stick a knife in me, she would have been all sweetness and light the last few weeks, and especially the last week, trying to lull me into doing what she wanted. Standard CEO tactics. Of course I’m your friend… sucker. Then when she had her hands on the battle cruiser, she would have gone all ice and fire on me. But she did the opposite.

Why didn’t the option of keeping the battle cruiser occur to Malin? Maybe it did, but he just assumed that I must have already considered the option and rejected it. But that doesn’t explain why Morgan hasn’t gone ballistic at the idea of turning the battle cruiser over to Iceni. Morgan hasn’t objected to the operation at all.

Because, he realized, it had never occurred to Morgan that he would give the battle cruiser to Iceni. She assumed I was keeping it. When she finds out I didn’t—

Maybe when she sees that this is working to everyone’s benefit, that this sort of strategy and cooperation makes us all stronger, Morgan will finally make some progress on trusting and accepting other people again. I’ve spent the last decade trying to get her to realize that cynicism and manipulation only gets you so far, and wherever it gets you isn’t worth the price. Besides, it’s the Syndicate way, and she hates the Syndicate much more than I do.

But she is going to raise hell while I explain that all again.

“General?” his comm panel called. “Colonel Morgan is here. She says she needs to see you immediately.”

And, here we go. “Send her in.”

On the bridge of the heavy cruiser Manticore, Kommodor Marphissa awaited her flotilla’s imminent arrival at Indras Star System. She had just come from speaking with Captain Bradamont, who had spent most of the time since leaving Midway in her stateroom, where her presence was least disruptive to the crew. When Admiral Geary’s fleet came through Indras on the way to Midway months ago, the star system was still firmly loyal to the Syndicate Worlds, Bradamont had repeated. They didn’t try to oppose our movement through Indras, but then they lacked the means to oppose us or stop us.

What was at Indras now? Had they gained more warships, more defenses? Was Indras still loyal to the Syndicate or had its leaders, or its people, struck off on their own as so many other star systems had in recent months? She, and the rest of the Recovery Flotilla, would learn the answers in a few minutes.

Her display had a row of green lights indicating full-combat readiness on Manticore. The other warships of the flotilla should also be as ready as they could be. The freighters could do little but hope that the warships could defend them.

“One minute,” the senior watch specialist informed Kapitan Diaz.

“We are ready, Kommodor,” Diaz told Marphissa.

“Let’s hope so,” she muttered in reply. For a moment, she wondered where former Kapitan Toirac was right now. On President Iceni’s orders, Marphissa had sent Toirac under guard back to the primary world at Midway. She had wanted to avoid seeing him again, but a sense of duty had driven Marphissa to be at the air lock when Toirac was escorted off of the ship, her last sight of him being his accusing eyes staring at her from a slack and unanimated face.

She shook her head to dispel the image from her mind as the flotilla left the hypernet with the usual lack of any sensory effect. One moment, nothing surrounded the flotilla in its bubble of something. The next, the bubble was gone, the stars shone upon them, and the flotilla was moving away from the gate at Indras.

“What are communications telling us?” she asked the comm specialist.

The woman was watching her screens intently and listening. “They’re still Syndicate, Kommodor. All of the message traffic I can see and hear is consistent with that. There are snake ciphers being used for some of it. We can’t read them. The snake ciphers we captured at Midway must have been superseded.”

That settled the matter since those messages had been sent hours before the arrival of the flotilla and so couldn’t be a deception designed to fool the newly arrived ships. Marphissa adjusted her suit. As much as she detested Syndicate uniforms, it had been necessary to don one for this performance, though it was a suit for a much higher rank than she had ever actually achieved.

She adopted the look of haughty superiority that she had seen so many times in Syndicate CEOs, then tapped her comm controls. “To the authorities at Indras Star System, this is CEO Manetas, commanding a flotilla en route to an internal security mission at Atalia Star System. I do not require your assistance at this time,” Marphissa drawled with as much arrogance as she could manage. President Iceni had stressed the need for that. Syndicate CEOs never ask, and they never show any trace of humility or weakness.

“For the people, Manetas, out.” It had taken a special effort to say “for the people” in the standard Syndicate manner, rapidly, with the words slurred together into the meaningless phrase it was for the leaders of the Syndicate.

She ended the transmission and inhaled deeply. “We’ll see how well that works.”

Diaz bent an amused look her way. “I’ll bet you never expected to wear a CEO suit.”

“Never expected and never wanted,” Marphissa said. “I feel unclean in this thing. But the imposture is necessary. We need to convince the authorities at Indras that we’re a legitimate Syndicate flotilla on our way to hammer Atalia. If we can do that, then even if they learn the truth when we show up again on way back to Midway, they won’t have time to activate the hypernet gate block, however that works.”

“They might be able to do it from here,” Diaz suggested.

“But they won’t, not without approval from Prime,” Marphissa insisted. “Do you think Prime is going to authorize anyone but themselves the power to shut down hypernet commerce and military movements? Indras will have to ask permission, and by the time they get it, we’ll be home at Midway.”

“I see your point,” Diaz admitted. “What if they see through us before we leave for Atalia?”

“Then we push on and hope the gate isn’t blocked when we get back,” Marphissa said. She pointed to her display. “All they have here in the way of mobile forces is two light cruisers and two HuKs orbiting thirty light-minutes from the star. Enough to overawe the local citizens but not enough to stop us, and not in any position to threaten us.”

Diaz licked his lips, his eyes on his display. “Should we destroy them? Try to lure the light cruisers and HuKs in close and take them out so the locals have a chance to rebel against the Syndicate?”

Marphissa hesitated, feeling a strong temptation to agree. It took a major effort of will to suppress the desire to say yes. “We can’t. We have a mission, a primary responsibility.”

“But—” Diaz began, turning a disappointed look her way.

“No. Listen. You’re in command of a warship now. You have to see the big picture. One part of that is, if something happens to us when we try to take out the Syndicate mobile forces here, or if our action provides enough notice for the hypernet to be blocked against our return, how do we get back? Who picks up the survivors from the Reserve Flotilla? We are their only hope for rescue from the Alliance camps where they are being held.”

“That’s true, Kommodor, but still—”

“And if we succeed, if we destroy all four Syndicate warships here, can the local citizens do anything? What about the ground forces? What about the snakes? You know the snakes plant weapons of mass destruction in cities as a last-ditch means of defeating rebellion.”

“I had heard that,” Diaz admitted.

“It’s true. President Iceni received a full briefing on what General Drakon’s soldiers found when they captured the snake headquarters. The snakes had nukes under every city on Midway’s primary world, and they were trying to set them off when General Drakon and his ground forces stopped them.”

“That could happen here,” Diaz said, his eyes hooded. “If the citizens aren’t ready, if they don’t have the ground forces on their side—”

“And if we start things rolling, the end result could be their cities vanishing into nuclear fire and rubble,” Marphissa concluded. “President Iceni and General Drakon planned and coordinated their rebellion. That’s why it worked. We can’t just jump-start another rebellion here.”

Diaz gave her an admiring look. “You’ve picked up a lot in a short time. It seems like only yesterday, you were an executive.”

“It was only yesterday in some ways,” Marphissa said. “And now look at me in a CEO suit! I can’t wait to get this thing off, but I have to see what kind of reply we get first. Do you want to know where I’m learning some of these things?”

“Sure.”

“From the Alliance officer.” Marphissa ignored Diaz’s jolt of dismay. “Captain Bradamont has been around a while longer than you and I, and she’s been a senior officer a lot longer, too. She’s had to think about these things, and she’s telling me about them.”

“If she’s telling you what to do—” Diaz began.

“No. She is showing me how to think! What I should think about. The big picture. What might happen, as opposed to what I might want to happen. The consequences of my actions. I knew some of this, even if I didn’t think in those terms, but she’s helping me understand. She wants us to win, Kapitan Diaz. Not because the Alliance has designs on Midway Star System, but because… well, she has personal reasons for wanting us to be free and strong.”

Diaz looked around, his mouth working, then back at Marphissa. “And because it weakens the Syndicate?”

“Certainly that, too. Look, Chintan, she hates the Syndicate, we hate the Syndicate. She spent time in a labor camp. We don’t have to like each other, but we can help each other.”

“True.” Diaz gave her a twisted smile. “But you do like her.”

Marphissa started to deny it, then spread her hands in a helpless gesture. “We get along.”

“Will she talk to me?”

“Of course she will. That’s why Black Jack sent her to us.”

Diaz nodded slowly, his eyes once more on his display, his expression thoughtful.

The reply from the authorities in Indras took exactly one hour and one minute longer than transmission times across the vast gulf of interplanetary space required. That timing made it obvious a snub was being delivered, an impression confirmed for Marphissa when CEO Yamada, a man of late middle age who had obviously lived many of those years too well, began speaking. “CEO Manetas, I have not heard of you.”

“He knows you’re a fake!” Diaz cried.

“No,” Marphissa said. “President Iceni told me I might hear something like that. It’s a CEO put-down. He’s saying I can’t be all that important because he never heard of me. It means they fell for it.”

Yamada had continued speaking as if the conversation held no interest for him. “I do not have any need for your assistance. You may continue on your assigned duties. I will expect you to leave both heavy cruisers here when you return as I have use for them. Enjoy your trip through Kalixa. For the people, Yamada, out.”

Diaz and Marphissa both laughed. “He did buy it!” Diaz said.

“He’s going to be very disappointed when we come back,” Marphissa said, “and tell him and every other CEO in this star system where they can stuff their expectations.” She got up. “I am changing out of this awful suit and putting on a uniform I am proud to wear,” Marphissa announced for the benefit of the bridge watch specialists. “Keep me informed of developments, Kapitan Diaz.”

“Yes, Kommodor Marphissa,” Diaz replied with a grin.

She stopped by Bradamont’s stateroom on the way to her own. “Our deception worked. Can you believe they thought I was a real Syndicate CEO?”

Bradamont nodded approvingly. “Good work. I was just watching my display and remembering the last time I came through here. It never occurred to me I’d come back aboard a former Syndic cruiser.” She nodded again, this time at her display. “Indras is far enough from the border with the Alliance that it didn’t get hit too often. It’s a shame a decent star system like this is still part of the Syndicate Worlds.”

Marphissa leaned against the side of the entry. “It’s all a lie, you know. Everything you’re seeing is fake. Those big manufacturing centers and transportation hubs? They’re full of inefficiencies, shoddy work, theft, and diversion of goods to the black market, thanks to workers who know the system is rigged against them and so don’t care about their jobs, and thanks to supervisors who owe their promotions to superiors who only care whether the supervisors tell them what they want to hear. The schools and universities teach technical subjects fairly well, but everything else they teach is lies. The houses and apartment complexes look neat and secure and safe, but they’re full of families and individuals who live every moment in fear that the Internal Security Service will come knocking because the snakes suspect them of something or they were accused of something or just because some snake supervisor needs to fill an arrest quota. That’s the real Syndicate system.”

“I’m sorry,” Bradamont said. “No one should have to live that way.”

“Should has nothing to do with it. It’s the way it is. The way it has been. But not at Midway anymore. We’ll get strong enough to help other star systems, too, like we did Taroa. Someday, the Syndicate will just be a bad memory.”

“And then somebody will start a new version of it,” Bradamont commented gloomily. “There’s been a lot of speculation in the Alliance that the Syndic leaders kept the war going because it helped hold together the Syndicate Worlds and allowed them to justify repression and everything else.”

“They didn’t need the war to justify repression,” Marphissa scoffed. “They stopped trying to justify things a long time ago. But it is true that we couldn’t rebel while people were worried about what the Alliance would do to us. Why swap one set of tyrants for another set?”

“The Alliance isn’t run by tyrants,” Bradamont said, startled. “The instability there these days is precisely because we can vote out our leaders. The people are doing that, and not always for the right reasons.”

“You’re talking about the way things are in the Alliance,” Marphissa pointed out. “I’m talking about what we were told about the Alliance. We knew what we were told was probably lies, but we didn’t know the truth. What we did know was that people in power were corrupt and cared nothing for those beneath them. Why should we expect your leaders to differ from ours?”

Bradamont shook her head. “How did you come out the way you did, Asima? You’re not a bad person. Not at all.”

“I knew I could either be like the people I hated, or I could be something else. I decided to be something else.” Marphissa paused. “The CEO here made some mocking comment about enjoying our trip through Kalixa. I know that’s where a hypernet gate collapsed and caused a lot of damage. How bad is it?”

“Bad,” Bradamont said. “Very bad.”

They were still twelve hours away from the jump point when Marphissa was awakened from sleep in her stateroom by an urgent summons. “We’ve received a snake message,” Diaz said. “We can’t read it, but it’s high-priority and addressed to the fake Syndicate hull identification we’ve been broadcasting.”

Marphissa stared at him, puzzled, then felt horror replacing her bafflement. “They want the snakes on our ships to check in with them! There haven’t been any snake status reports sent from our ships!”

“Damn! I should have—”

“We all should have thought of that! Quick. Have a message made up using as templates some of those snake messages we captured after we killed them. Use the snake encryption we brought from Midway. It will be old, but it’s the best we’ve got. Tell them… tell the snakes in Indras that there are new procedures. ISS agents on ships are supposed to maintain comm silence as much as possible to keep rebels from knowing which ships are still loyal.”

“Kommodor, that is really weak,” Diaz said, “but it’s a lot stronger than anything I’ve thought of. I’ll get the message ready and send it to you for approval.”

Marphissa sat on the edge of her bunk, staring into her darkened stateroom. So close. We almost made it out of Indras without being uncovered. But it looks like we’re going to be busted before we leave here, and that might mean getting home will be a nightmare.