Perilous Shield

Chapter Eighteen

No one moved for several seconds, though Togo seemed to have teleported to a position between Iceni and Malin, one hand concealed under his jacket.

Finally, Iceni spoke, her voice angry. “Another one of your officers has drawn a weapon in my presence, General. What is the meaning of this?”

“Colonel Malin?” Drakon asked, making sure that his voice carried the promise that Malin’s explanation had better be a good one.

“She’s a snake,” Malin said, his own voice as calm as if he were giving a routine briefing. “Check the palm of her right hand. Carefully, without touching it.”

Ito’s hand twitched, and muscles stood out on her arm as she tried to move it, but Malin’s iron grip held the hand motionless.

Iceni gestured to Togo. “Do it.”

Togo, betraying no sign of what he felt about Malin’s actions, walked forward and scanned Ito’s exposed palm with an instrument that appeared in his left hand, then bent slightly to study it closely. “Poison,” he announced. “Contact poison, absorbed through the skin.”

“How can she have it on her palm?” Rogero demanded, looking shocked.

“There is a very thin protective surface.” Togo produced a knife, using the blade to gently pry at the edge of Ito’s palm. The knife slid and pulled away, taking what looked like a translucent layer of skin with it. “Whoever she touched with this palm would have died within a short time of sudden, catastrophic heart failure.”

Drakon looked at Ito’s right hand, held rigidly by Malin so that it still extended toward him. “How did you know?” he asked Malin.

Malin hadn’t moved at all, his weapon still rigid against Ito’s skull. “I have been tracking snakes for a long time, General, as you ordered me to, with particular emphasis on finding covert snake agents among the ground forces and the mobile forces. Executive Ito came to my attention before the Reserve Flotilla left here because a higher-than-usual number of supervisory personnel on her ship had been pulled in for questioning or outright arrest by the snakes. My investigations determined Ito herself had made some statements criticizing the Syndicate government. However, Ito was never called in by the snakes.”

“Bait,” Morgan said, her voice dripping with loathing.

Drakon nodded, knowing he was glaring at Ito now, too. Someone who had presented themselves as a sympathetic ear to draw out treasonous statements from others, then turn them in to the snakes.

“Hold on!” Rogero protested. “Colonel Malin, I was told by Sub-CEO Pers Garadun, whose account was backed by others, that Ito shot the senior snake on her ship before he could reach the escape pod leaving it!”

Malin’s pistol didn’t waver. “Of course she did,” he said. “Who would she have been reporting to on that ship? Who could have betrayed her as a snake herself inside the Alliance prison camp? The snake knew what would happen at the hands of the crew unless he had something to trade them that might buy his own life. Ito knew that what he had to offer was her identity. The only way she could be sure of surviving, of hiding what she was, meant killing that snake. So she silenced him, and she made sure that your friend saw it so everybody would believe she hated the snakes even more than they did.”

One of the new leytenants took a step forward, his horrified gaze fixed on Ito. “She fingered two other officers in the Alliance prison camp. Ito told us they were covert snakes. They both swore they weren’t snakes, but Ito showed us strong evidence. We found them guilty. We… we executed them. I can’t… no. No.”

Ito finally found her voice. “I have no idea how that came onto my hand. I’ve been set up. I—”

“Shut up,” Malin advised her casually, emphasizing the words with a little extra pressure on the weapon jammed against her skull. “Colonel Rogero, when the mob attacked Captain Bradamont on the freighter, who was the first supervisor on the scene?”

“Executive Ito,” Rogero said, his voice gone flat.

“Closest to the event, the first to get there. The first to see who was still alive. Just as if she had set the leaders of the mob into motion and was standing by to see how well the plan worked. Who interrogated the workers for information about who instigated the mob attack?”

“Executive Ito,” Rogero said, looking ill. “She said one of the wounded ones died before he could say anything.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Malin said. “But, Colonel, you know to be suspicious when people who may know something you need to know conveniently die before they can tell you anything.”

“Yes, I do.” Rogero gazed at Ito with dawning anger. “Garadun told you and Jepsen to tell everyone on the freighters about Kalixa, that the Alliance hadn’t committed that atrocity. You told Jepsen not to, that you would do it. But you never would have, would you?”

Ito said nothing.

“You were going to kill General Drakon first,” Malin said conversationally to Ito. “At a gathering with many mobile forces personnel and President Iceni. Suspicion would have fallen on the President, wouldn’t it? And when you subsequently found a way to murder President Iceni, it would look like the ground forces had retaliated for the murder of General Drakon. The entire star system would have collapsed into civil war, making the survivors easy pickings for the Syndicate. And you would have been a Hero of the Syndicate. Am I right, Executive Ito?”

“Executive Ito,” Iceni said in an icy voice, “seems to have lost her voice.”

“We’ll see how much she says under interrogation,” Drakon said.

“No.” Ito’s voice had changed, had become as devoid of emotion as her expression now was. The habitual cheerfulness, the camaraderie, were gone, replaced by an awful blankness. “Do you think I want to die the way you’ll kill me? Slowly, screaming for mercy from the likes of you? I will not be the last. I will not betray the Syndicate. I’ll see you all in hell.”

“Togo!” Iceni cried, a dawning awareness in her eyes as she gestured toward Ito. “Stop—!”

Ito stiffened, then went limp, falling lifeless to the floor. Malin let her drop, gazing down at her without feeling.

Togo halted his lunge toward Ito, instead going to one knee next to her and running a scanner over the body. “Dead. I cannot tell what did it.”

“A suicide device?” Iceni asked. “But she was screened. The Alliance must have screened her, too, when they took her prisoner.”

Malin had slowly knelt on the other side of Ito’s body, his eyes on it. “A suicide device that cannot be detected by screens. We need to find out what it was.”

“That’s not all we need to find out,” Morgan said sharply. “General, we need to talk.”

Iceni spread her hands slightly. “Feel free.” Despite her calm tone, she was almost shaking as she looked at Togo. “I’ll make sure the body gets fully autopsied. And I will learn how that woman got through screening that should have spotted what she was. Don’t shake anyone’s hand, General.”

“Don’t worry,” Drakon said. “I think I’m going to wear gloves for a while.”

He led the way out, followed by Morgan, Rogero, and Malin. The now-stunned newly appointed officers stood around silently, doubtless wondering what would happen to them if the usual guilt by association they were used to in the Syndicate system was employed here as well.

Once in a nearby secure room, Morgan spun to face Rogero. “I think someone has some questions to answer.”

Drakon held up an admonishing hand. “What questions?”

“Who brought that snake here? Who missed obvious clues as to what she was? Who was so besotted with an Alliance officer that he failed to personally interrogate the workers who took part in the riot on that freighter?”

Rogero’s face had darkened, but his voice stayed controlled. “Ito fooled people she lived with for years.”

“What about the interrogation, Colonel Rogero?” Morgan demanded.

“To that, I am guilty,” Rogero said evenly. “I was too rattled by the attempted killing to focus on my job and improperly delegated something that I should have done myself.”

“Was that because Bradamont was the target?” Drakon asked.

“Yes, sir. It was. I let personal considerations distract me from my duty. I will add something that was not discussed out there. After Bradamont left the ship, while we were in jump, Ito attempted to develop an intimate relationship with me.”

“Attempted?” Drakon asked. “You turned her down?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You got that right, at least. Anything else?”

“No, sir.”

“All right. We’ll discuss the matter later. Colonel Morgan, was there anything else on your part?”

Stymied by Rogero’s blunt admission of failure, Morgan was glowering at him. “General, this kind of failure—”

“Will be further discussed with Colonel Rogero by me—in private.”

“Sir, you can’t let him get away with this because of his personal relationship—”

“Colonel Morgan, that is all,” Drakon said, his voice rising in volume and dropping in pitch. “I don’t require my officers to be perfect. I will carefully evaluate the mistakes made by Colonel Rogero and make my own determination as to the proper response, but I will also keep in mind that we are all capable of mistakes.”

“Not me, General,” Morgan insisted.

“Not you?” Malin’s eyes on Morgan were flat and hard. “You might be surprised to learn about some of the mistakes you’ve made.”

“If you know something—” Morgan began furiously, grabbing Malin’s wrist much as he had grabbed Ito’s earlier.

“That’s enough!” Drakon said.

Stricken by the tone of Drakon’s voice, Morgan dropped her grasp on Malin, came to stiff attention, and saluted. “Yes, sir. By your leave, sir.” Turning, she pulled open the door and stormed out.

“I didn’t think she disliked me that much,” Rogero said.

“She dislikes everyone,” Malin replied. “But this isn’t your fault. Colonel Morgan is angry because I caught Ito, not her. She was flat-footed and unprepared when Ito almost killed General Drakon because she was watching you, Colonel Rogero, and me, not Ito.”

“Bran,” Drakon said with some heat, “I am enormously grateful for your work, but there’s no need to bait Morgan about it.”

“Anything I said would be considered baiting by her, sir. I guarantee you that she feels enraged at having failed to spot a danger to you before I did. Morgan cannot accept that I succeeded where she did not.”

“You’d both better keep it professional, understand?” Drakon said, wondering if the rivalry had reached the point where he would have to break up the pair despite their usefulness, and their apparent loyalty, to him.

“It is a shame,” Rogero commented in a neutral voice, “that Ito died before she could lead us to the other covert snakes hidden in this star system.”

Malin shook his head. “I am beginning to strongly suspect that there are no other covert snakes in this star system.”

“No other snakes?” Drakon demanded. “Then who has been behind the attacks, the spying, and the other things we’ve experienced?”

“I am still trying to learn that, General. And we certainly can’t rule out more snakes among the survivors of the Reserve Flotilla. But what I have found is that often the way the things we have experienced have been done is contrary to snake procedures, except when something is done so clumsily it is certain to be detected. And then the snake procedures are followed to the letter.”

“By someone who wants us to think they’re a snake?” Rogero asked.

“Yes.” Malin looked at Drakon. “No, I don’t suspect Morgan in all of it. There are probably multiple players in this game, which has confused the tracks no end. For example, I know that Morgan would not target you. Nor have I seen any sign that she is targeting Captain Bradamont. But someone is trying to conduct preattack surveillance on Bradamont, and the last assassination attempt on you was dead serious.”

Rogero turned on Malin. “Why haven’t I been told?”

“Because I don’t have anything that adds up to certainty of another attack or the identity of whoever is behind it,” Malin explained. “And, Captain Bradamont is being appropriately careful of her personal safety.”

“Yes,” Rogero agreed reluctantly. “The mob attack on the freighter drove home to her that even in a supposedly safe environment, she can be in danger.”

“Who is targeting me, then?” Drakon asked. “That assassination attempt by those People’s Word fanatics had snake fingerprints on it, didn’t it?”

“I’m not sure of that, sir,” Malin explained. “We were meant to think that, but I have been considering the matter.” He walked to one wall, where an illustration of the star system hung, providing both decoration and useful prop. Malin pointed to the image of the planet they were on. “That attack on you, and the subsequent security actions, effectively wiped out The People’s Word organization. The leaders were killed or forced to resign, the most fervent believers died in the attack, and most of the members scattered to less radical organizations. The entire agenda of The People’s Word was discredited for the citizens by its involvement in the attack on you. If you were a snake, and you wished this star system to be politically destabilized, wouldn’t you want something like The People’s Word to be strengthened rather than eliminated? To grow stronger and challenge the authority of both you and President Iceni?”

Drakon came up beside Malin, narrowing his eyes as he thought, his gaze on the image of the planet. “That’s a really good point. Those People’s Word types were already causing some disruption in the planned elections. Getting rid of them benefited me and President Iceni.” He looked over at Malin. “Though getting rid of them could have also involved my death. Are you implying that the President was behind that whole thing?”

“No, sir. I am certain she was not,” Malin said forcefully. “But that does not rule out someone in her camp.”

“Or someone who wants you to think she was behind it,” Rogero suggested.

“Or someone who wants her to think you are trying to frame her,” Malin added.

Drakon’s laugh was no more than a bitter snort. “I get it. We’ve still got no idea. But if you’re concluding that whoever is behind all of this is not a snake, no matter which particular incident we’re talking about, then President Iceni needs to be told. I’ll do that. Colonel Rogero, you get with Captain Bradamont and make sure she understands that someone is still after her. She might want to know about Ito, too.”

“And me, General?” Malin asked.

“Just try to avoid Morgan for a while.”

Gwen Iceni offered Drakon a seat before her desk, her hand in the midst of indicating the seat twisting for a moment into a sign whose meaning she hoped he would recognize.

Someone may be listening.

They were in her office, the most secure place under Iceni’s personal authority, but some instinct warned her that even here speaking freely could be dangerous. She hadn’t felt that way before, but it had been growing on her. Was it justifiable caution or real paranoia?

Drakon sat down, his eyes on her, his first words indicating that he had seen and recognized the hand sign. “I know there are a lot of things we shouldn’t talk about,” he began in a conversational tone, “because we can’t trust anyone.”

“No,” Iceni agreed. “We can’t trust anyone.”

“But there are some people I distrust a lot less than others.” He looked toward the virtual window behind Iceni’s desk, a window currently set to show a beach on the planet, the waves rushing up the sand and back again into the ocean in an endless rhythm. “Didn’t that used to show the city?”

“I changed it,” Iceni said. “Sometimes I find myself liking things that I never expected to.”

He looked back at her, watching Iceni for a moment before speaking again. If only I could know what you were really thinking, Artur Drakon.

“I’m here to let you know,” Drakon said, “that even though I’ve been the target of the last two assassination attempts, there are reasons to believe you are also still being targeted.”

Instead of any fear, Iceni felt a sense of weariness filling her. “Of course. Does it ever end?”

“Beats the hell out of me. I also don’t know who is doing the targeting, but my staff believes that more than one party is involved, with more than one set of goals.”

“Interesting.” Malin already passed me that information this morning. I wondered what he would tell Drakon, but I’m no longer surprised that Drakon shared the information with me. I wish I knew exactly why he was doing it. “Who besides the snakes?”

His hand made a negating sign. “I don’t know.”

Not snakes? Malin had passed the same conclusion to her. But that had been before Ito had tried to kill Drakon, and Ito had snake all over her. “You once apologized to me for not sharing information. Now I must… apologize… to you.” That word was very hard to get out. “My people were supposed to have screened out any threats. Instead, I let an assassin get within reach of you.”

How had Togo been so careless? She had grown to count on his ruthless efficiency. She had grown to count on it too much.

But why had Malin said nothing to her about his suspicions regarding Ito? Why make such a public demonstration of Togo’s failure and his own effectiveness?

Or perhaps that had been the point of the whole display.

“We need to talk again later,” Iceni said. “There are some things I need to check on.”

“All right.” Drakon stood up. “Gwen… stay safe.”

“Don’t get all sentimental on me, General,” she chided him. “You might make me wonder what you’re up to.”

“I wish the hell I knew.”

He had barely left Iceni’s secure office when his comm unit buzzed urgently. Very urgently. “I need to see you in your office right away, General,” Morgan said.

“What’s it about?”

“A threat to you. A threat right next to you.”

“Morgan, this had better be—”

“You wanted evidence. I have it.”

He paused. “All right. I’m on my way.”

His thoughts on the short trip to his headquarters were a tumbled mess. Did Morgan really have conclusive evidence against Malin? Or had she finally gone too far down a road that had threatened her for a long time? I wish I knew more about the medical waiver she got after that mission messed her up. It couldn’t have been patronage pulling strings for her, so there must have been solid grounds for declaring her stable enough for service. But more than once I’ve wondered, especially lately.

Morgan was waiting as he entered his office.

Consumed by thoughts, he hadn’t realized that Malin had fallen in behind him, oblivious to events. His first notification of that was when Malin began speaking as the door closed, his tone as normal as if everything was routine. “General, I—”

“I finally found you out!” Morgan yelled. “I know what you are!”

To Drakon’s astonishment, Malin’s weapon was out in an eyeblink, the barrel leveled at Morgan’s head, Malin’s face drawn and rigid.

Morgan had been surprised as well, but only for an instant. She had shifted her posture, her lips drawn back in a frightening smile, hands posed for the sort of strikes that had killed before and would surely do so now if she attacked Malin.

“Stand down, both of you!” Drakon shouted.

Malin didn’t seem to hear Drakon, his eyes fixed on Morgan, his expression rigid, his weapon aimed directly at her face.

Morgan looked back at Malin, scorn and anger radiating from her, ready to leap into attack.

“Colonel Malin,” Drakon said again, this time in a more controlled voice but putting all of his command authority behind it, “lower your weapon. Colonel Morgan, don’t attack when Malin drops his weapon, or I swear I’ll shoot you myself. Now, both of you follow orders and follow them now or both of you will regret the days you were born.”

Malin took a long, deep breath, blinking as if coming out of a daze, and took one step back, the hand holding his sidearm lowering as if it had been forgotten.

Morgan’s eyes twitched toward Drakon, judging the ferocity in his gaze. She slowly dropped her hands to her sides and also stepped back.

“If this ever happens again,” Drakon said in a voice that didn’t sound like his own, “you are both gone from here. Do you understand? Out of this headquarters, off this planet, out of this star system, and out of anywhere within a hundred light-years of here. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir,” Malin said, his voice now calm and composed.

“Yes, General Drakon,” Morgan said.

“The Syndicate is preparing another attack on this star system. It could come at any time. We need to be getting ready for that, focused on that, and not on internal rivalries and behavior so out-of-control that I don’t know why I’m giving you two a chance. But there will not be another. Now get out of here before I order you both to be arrested, and don’t come within a hundred meters of each other for the next two days.”

Morgan shook her head. “General, I came here for a reason. A very important reason.” She turned a once-more-contemptuous look on Malin. “Colonel Malin has some questions to answer, and once you read this,” she added, holding up a data coin, “you’ll want to ask them.”

“Questions about what?” Drakon asked, not ready to give in at all to Morgan.

“DNA,” Morgan said. “Colonel Malin’s actual DNA,” she continued with the cadence of a judge pronouncing sentence on a condemned prisoner, “which I recently acquired by using a sampler in my hand when I grabbed his wrist, does not match the DNA reference contained in the official service file of Colonel Bran Malin. Does it?” she challenged Malin.

“That’s all?” Malin asked. “The DNA doesn’t match?”

“That’s enough,” Morgan snarled. “You’re a phony, someone else claiming to be Bran Malin.”

Drakon held out his hand. “Give me the coin. Morgan, if you’ve manufactured false evidence—”

“You can get another DNA sample from him right now, General, and check it against the official record.”

Taking the coin that Morgan smugly offered, Drakon looked at Malin. “Bran? Do you have anything to say?”

“Yes, sir. I will answer every question to your satisfaction, but”—he gestured toward Morgan—“I request in the strongest terms that Colonel Morgan not be here when I do.”

“Why?”

“You will understand once I have answered your questions, sir.”

Morgan spoke up again, shooting her words at Malin. “You have no right to demand any terms, Colonel Malin, or whoever the hell you are.”

“Quiet.” Drakon stood looking at the two colonels in the total silence that fell after his single word of command. He studied Morgan and Malin, recalling what he had asked of each of them in the past, remembering what they had done for him. What did he owe each of them now? “Colonel Morgan, if your information is on this data coin, then you need not be present when I look at it. Therefore, I will grant Colonel Malin’s request. If I am not fully satisfied with his answers, I will be able to bring you in afterward.”

Morgan scowled, but bit off whatever she had been planning to say, and instead turned her gaze on Malin. “You can’t lie your way out of this one. You wouldn’t have had to if you’d had the guts to kill me before I told the General, but you’ve always been a worm. I know General Drakon can handle you if you try anything, and I know what he’ll do to you once he sees that evidence. Have a nice trip to hell.”

Malin looked steadily back at Morgan. “I’ll keep a place there free for you. A nice warm spot.”

Drakon held out his hand again. “Your sidearm, Colonel Malin.”

Shifting his grip on the weapon slowly so that he could no longer fire it, Malin offered the sidearm to Drakon.

Drakon placed Malin’s sidearm on the desk, close at hand. “You may go, Colonel Morgan. Since Colonel Malin desires privacy, please return to your quarters while I speak with him.”

Morgan bared her teeth in a vicious grin and saluted. “Yes, sir.”

She left, deliberately turning her back on Malin and walking slowly as if flaunting her vulnerability to him during those moments.

The door sealed again. Malin waited, watching the security lights above the door shift from red to green to indicate that no surveillance devices could penetrate the room, then he faced General Drakon. “You should look at what Colonel Morgan gave you, sir.”

Drakon pointed to a chair before his desk. “Sit down.” He wasn’t being courteous with the command, and Malin knew it. Sitting down would handicap Malin if he tried to attack Drakon or flee, that chair was the focus of more than one concealed weapon, and the chair contained a variety of sensors for determining whether someone was lying or telling the truth as they knew it.

As Malin took his seat, Drakon fed the data coin into his desk unit. Twin images of standardized DNA profiles appeared, one from Colonel Bran Malin’s service record and the other from what was identified as a sample from the Bran Malin sitting before Drakon.

A segment of the DNA profiles was highlighted in red. Negative match. “You said you’d answer my questions,” Drakon began. “Do you know what this shows?”

“Yes, sir,” Malin said.

Drakon frowned at Malin, wondering why Malin sounded relieved. “And that is?”

“The mitochondrial DNA does not match.”

Drakon flicked a glance at his screen. “That’s right.”

“The DNA sample in my official record was falsified.” Malin slowly held up one arm, moving with care to avoid any appearance of threatening Drakon. “The DNA on my embedded personal data chip is accurate. Any variation there from my actual DNA would have been spotted long ago.”

“You falsified your DNA in your official record? Why?”

Malin sighed, looking unhappy. “I had to. Otherwise, a connection might have been spotted during routine genetic screening using official records.”

“A connection? To what?” Had Malin been a spy for the Alliance all this time? Or somehow linked to the enigmas? Or, impossible as it seemed, the snakes?

“Mitochondrial DNA, General,” Malin said. “It identifies the mother of any individual.”

“You wanted to hide who your mother was?” Drakon shook his head, baffled. “Your mother was a Syndicate medical executive. Even the snakes never claimed there was anything in her record that would bring suspicion on her. She died, what, eight years ago?”

“Yes, sir,” Malin said, his voice growing thin with stress. “Medical Executive Flora Malin died eight years ago, of complications from exposure during Syndicate research assignments. She gave birth to me. She raised me. But she was not my biological mother.”

“Hell, lots of people have tangled family histories. There was a war on for a century! Why hide who your biological mother was? Was she a snake?”

“No, sir.” Malin pointed to Drakon’s display. “Run a comparison check on the actual sample, General, the one Colonel Morgan pulled from me. You will find a match for the mitochondrial DNA.”

“Your biological mother is on this planet?”

“You can limit the search to headquarters personnel, General.” Malin looked as if his face had drained of blood now, but his voice stayed calm.

The sensors in the chair said there was no deception in Malin. Frowning in puzzlement, trying to guess which of the soldiers assigned to his headquarters could possibly be Malin’s biological mother, Drakon ran the search.

The answer popped up almost instantly. A perfect match.

Drakon stared at the answer. He could read the words, but the meaning kept slipping away from him. They couldn’t possibly be saying what his eyes kept seeing.

Colonel Malin’s voice sounded as if it were coming from somewhere very far away. “As I am certain the DNA match confirms, my biological mother is Colonel Roh Morgan.”