Perilous Shield

Chapter Three

Iceni turned a gaze on Togo, which must have communicated a message, because he nodded once and slipped out of the room.

“Find Morgan,” Drakon said to Malin, not willing to trust in whatever Iceni’s lackey aimed to accomplish. “Tell her, from me, that there may be a… snake agent in the command center. I want her to find that person.”

Malin hesitated. “Sir, Morgan’s methods—”

“She can be as subtle and sneaky as a demon when she wants to be. You know that. I want her on this. The odds against us are bad enough. I don’t want a snake, or anyone else, feeding Boyens information on what we’re doing before we do it.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And tell Morgan I want the agent identified, then notify me so a decision can be made on what to do.”

“Sir,” Malin said with careful formality, “I feel compelled to remind you that if you target Morgan on someone, she may not act in a restrained manner. I also feel obligated to point out one other thing. The tight-beam transmission was sent toward CEO Boyens’s flotilla. That does not mean the transmission was intended for CEO Boyens.”

Iceni picked up on that immediately. “The Syndicate flotilla surely has ISS representatives on board. Or are you implying there may be other players as well?”

“I am saying there are other possibilities, Madam President.”

Malin’s statement was clearly aimed at Drakon as well. He regarded Malin, wondering why he was bringing this up in front of Iceni. If she had been contacting the snakes aboard Boyens’s ships…

But why would she do that? Iceni wasn’t a fool. She knew the snakes wanted her blood. Iceni, the senior CEO in the star system, hadn’t only revolted against the Syndicate Worlds. She had also, along with Drakon, ensured the slaughter of the snakes in this star system. The families had been sent back to Prime, but the ISS surely wanted to make a memorable example of Iceni to avenge their dead comrades and make anyone else think twice before massacring snakes.

There’s no one who wants me dead as much as they want her dead. She knows that. She probably sent her man Togo to make sure I didn’t send that message.

Whatever else Malin might have said was interrupted by a call from the command center’s main room. “The enigmas are moving!”

Iceni walked quickly out of the office, but Drakon held up a restraining hand to Malin when he moved to follow. It felt silly to rush to see something that had happened over four hours ago, especially when this offered a good opportunity for private conversation with Malin without attracting anyone’s notice. “There’s a possibility that you didn’t mention,” Drakon told Malin. “The chance that the President herself sent that tight-beam message, a prerecorded offer for a secret deal that cuts me out in every sense of the word.”

Malin spoke carefully as he replied. “General, I have no information indicating that President Iceni has undertaken such a move. Nor would such a move make sense.”

“I know, and I have too much respect for Iceni to think she doesn’t know that as well. But old habits die hard. How good is your information on what she’s doing now?”

“I feel confident that I would know if she was planning to move against you, sir.”

“Hmmm.” Drakon glanced toward the doorway leading into the command center. “That’s your assessment, or you have solid information?”

“Both, sir.” Malin sounded confident, assured, as if he knew all the angles.

He sounded, in fact, like Morgan did at such times. Despite their immense dislike for each other, and despite being different in many ways, Malin and Morgan sometimes seemed disturbingly similar. “Keep your eyes open, anyway, and make sure you question everything you think you already know.”

“Yes, sir.” Malin smiled. “You have taught me that. It’s a good rule to follow in planning any operation.”

“I learned it the hard way, Bran. Get going.”

After Malin left, Drakon walked into the command center to join Iceni where she was watching the display. Even a ground forces soldier like him had no trouble seeing what was playing out. “The enigmas are moving to intercept Black Jack.”

The two forces, Alliance and enigma, were hurtling together at velocities a ground forces officer had trouble grasping. More than point two light speed. Drakon did the math. About sixty thousand kilometers every second. How can any human get their mind around that kind of speed? I’m used to dealing with an environment on the surface of planets, where a kilometer is a significant distance.

Nor did ground forces rush together as these warships did. He knew the reasons for the ways that spacecraft fought. The ships could see each other across huge distances, yet the warship weapons had such short ranges relative to the vast reaches of space and the tremendous speed at which the spacecraft moved that warships had to get close to each other in order to fight. They could waltz around forever, avoiding contact, if one side didn’t want to fight and didn’t have to go to some specific objective such as a hypernet gate. “Forever” wasn’t all that long in this case, of course, being limited by the fuel and food supplies on the ships.

I don’t like it. Drakon felt his jaw tightening as he watched the two forces rushing into contact. Space warfare is too mechanical. You never see the enemy as people, just as ships. They can fly all over space, across distances so great it takes hours for light itself to make the journey, but in the end they have to bash head to head. How can you really use tactics when the other side can see everything you do no matter how far away you are? When there’s nothing to hide behind and no way to conceal yourself? It all comes down to two groups of people running up to each other and hitting the other guys as hard as they can.

But then how did Black Jack blow away the mobile forces of the Syndicate Worlds in battle after battle? There’s got to be something else here, something different from what I know.

He looked around the display at the rest of the star system: the planets swinging in leisurely, nearly circular orbits; comets and asteroids following their own orbits along paths in any shape from circular to huge, narrow ellipses running from the cold dark near the edge of the star system to the bright heat near the star itself; the hypernet gate looming off to one side; the occasional group of warships; and a gratifying number of commercial ships, mostly transports passing through on their way to somewhere else and currently doing their clumsy, lumbering best to stay out of the way of the warships. It all made for a very different battlefield than those he was accustomed to.

Though as battlefields went, Midway was also different than the average star system. Drakon knew that jump points had roughly the same influence on space battles as passes through mountain ranges or bridges across major rivers had on surface fights. Anyone coming or going had to use them. Whereas the average star had two or three jump points, and an exceptional star might have five or even six, Midway boasted a remarkable eight jump points that led to eight other stars—Kahiki, Lono, Kane, Taroa, Laka, Maui, Pele, and Iwa. That alone had earned Midway its name.

Then, about forty years ago, the Syndicate Worlds had constructed the hypernet gate here as well, a massive structure orbiting slowly about five light-hours from the star. The gate gave direct access to any other star in Syndicate space with a gate of its own. All of this made Midway the junction for a lot of trade, for ships carrying cargo and people to any number of other stars, and for defense of this region of space. But it had also made Midway a target, even though officially there had been no enemy here, on the far side of Syndicate space from the Alliance.

The large Reserve Flotilla guarding this region of Syndicate space had lacked any admitted purpose because only a very few of the most high-ranking Syndicate officials were advised of the existence of an intelligent nonhuman species beyond Midway. So little was known of this race that they were called the enigmas, but they had pushed the once-expanding boundaries of the Syndicate Worlds back to Midway. Syndicate ships in the border regions would sometimes disappear without a trace, but enigma ships were never seen, even during the long-distance negotiations that consisted mainly of enigma demands.

Then the Reserve Flotilla had been called away, ordered by the government at Prime to confront the Alliance that under Black Jack Geary had shattered the other mobile forces of the Syndicate Worlds. The Reserve Flotilla had gone, had met Geary, and had not returned. Months later, as the enigmas pressed to take over this star system as well, Black Jack had showed up here, unthinkably far from Alliance space, with the news that the war was over. After expending countless lives and uncountable resources, the Syndicate Worlds had lost the war it had begun.

Already tottering from the human and material costs of the war, the Syndicate Worlds began coming apart in the aftermath. Drakon and Iceni had led the revolt here, destroying the hated Internal Security Service presence in this star system. The crumbling of the Syndicate Worlds had also impacted neighboring stars. Kane had descended into anarchy as the Syndicate rulers fled and workers’ committees feuded. Taroa had experienced a three-way civil war, which only a military intervention led by Drakon had resolved in favor of the Free Taroa faction.

Now the Syndicate Worlds was back with a flotilla to reconquer Midway, the enigmas were back with the intention of taking this star system for themselves, Black Jack’s fleet had returned battered and apparently still fighting the enigmas but maybe or maybe not the Syndicate flotilla, the Midway Flotilla was going to help Black Jack’s fleet unless it found Black Jack doing something it shouldn’t assist, and the intentions of those six new ships were a mystery.

In some ways, space combat could be pretty complicated.

“Another front-row seat as we watch how Black Jack leads his forces,” Drakon commented.

“That is no small thing,” Iceni replied.

But he found it hard to stay engaged while watching depictions of two forces “rushing” toward each other at what seemed to be a snail’s pace because of the scale of the battlefield. Especially since whatever happened when they met had already happened. Eventually, the light from that event would reach here, hours after the actual clash.

Drakon’s thoughts strayed to the problem of finding out who had sent a message to the Syndicate flotilla from this command center. The software governing the many functions of the systems here was riddled with subprograms, worms, and sentries, many inserted by official actors in the name of monitoring activity, security, safety, and reliability. Or, as the workers call it, Aim the Blame. They know if anything happens, the people in charge want to have enough data to be able to pin the fault on whichever scapegoat they choose.

But Drakon knew there was also a welter of unapproved, unofficial, and outright illegal subprograms, worms, and Trojan horses woven through software that had become too complex to ever be purged of invaders. He had made use of such things himself at times in order to learn things he wasn’t supposed to know, or to accomplish things he wasn’t supposed to do. Another CEO had once speculated to him that half of whatever the Syndicate Worlds got done was the result of working around the system. And I told him I thought half was way too low a figure. There’s irony for you. For all that we disliked, or hated, the Syndicate system, we’re the ones who kept it going by finding ways to get the job done even when that system tried to make it impossible.

Right now, Malin and Morgan were both using their own methods to dig through the morass of software to spot the signs of their quarry. If someone had sent a message to the Syndicate flotilla using the comm systems in this command center, then there would be some trace of that activity somewhere. Like hunters nosing through the underbrush in search of a bent twig or a twisted stem, Malin and Morgan would find some sign. Once they had one hint of their quarry, one or both of them would use that to find other tracks. The tracks would form a trail, and the quarry would be run to earth. The only unknowns were how long it would take and whether both Malin and Morgan would nail the prey, or if one of them would manage to run it down first.

Iceni’s right-hand man Togo had come back, leaning close to Iceni and whispering some report to her. It must have been something sensitive that he wouldn’t want to risk being intercepted or overheard on even a supposedly secure comm circuit, but Drakon was certain Togo hadn’t yet found the source of the transmission.

I don’t doubt that Togo is good. Iceni wouldn’t have him around, and so close to her, if he wasn’t very capable. But Togo isn’t driven by the intense rivalry between Malin and Morgan. That rivalry can be a real pain to deal with, but it’s also invaluable a lot of the time.

I wonder what does drive Togo? That could be important to know.

“General,” Malin said in a way that immediately brought Drakon out of his contemplation of Togo and Iceni’s relationship.

Had Malin won the race already?

But as Drakon looked at Malin, he saw that the colonel wasn’t displaying triumph. Instead, Malin was looking toward the entrance to the command center.

Morgan had come strolling in. She didn’t appear to be in any hurry, moving with the leisurely certainty of a panther closing in on trapped prey. One of her hands had reached down and was in the process of drawing the hand weapon holstered on one hip.

And Morgan was walking straight toward President Iceni.

Drakon moved forward, but not as fast as Togo. Iceni’s bodyguard/assistant swung about with startling speed, coming between Morgan and Iceni. A series of moves and countermoves occurred almost too fast to follow, ending with Morgan and Togo pointing weapons directly at each other’s faces at point-blank range, while their free hands were locked together off to one side, each straining for advantage.

“Hold it!” Drakon said, the volume of his words low but the intensity strong enough to freeze everyone within earshot, which included Morgan and Togo. Under other circumstances, it might have been comical to see all of the workers sitting completely rigid at their consoles, afraid to even breathe. But, right now, Drakon could see no humor in anything. “Stand down, Colonel Morgan.”

She took a deep breath, her eyes not leaving Togo’s face, then Morgan stepped back, breaking contact with a graceful motion as if executing a ballet move. Her weapon’s barrel lowered in a smooth arc, ending with it pointing at the floor.

President Iceni, her face impassive but her eyes revealing surprise, worry, and anger, spoke in a quiet voice carrying the same power as Drakon’s had. “Back away.”

Togo, his expression showing nothing, took one pace backward, his weapon disappearing into concealment in his clothing as rapidly as it had appeared.

“What the hell’s going on?” Drakon asked Morgan.

Her eyes went to him, measuring his anger. Morgan didn’t try to push things when she knew he was not in any mood for that. She answered with professional detachment, putting no feeling into her words, her expression similarly betraying no emotions. “Sir, you asked me to find the source of that message to the snakes. I found it.”

“And then you were to notify me.”

“The source is right here, General. Notification and arrest would have to be simultaneous.”

Iceni had recovered enough from shock that she reddened in rage. “Is this officer implying that I am—”

But before she had finished speaking Morgan had stepped to one side, walking no longer straight at Iceni but toward one of the operator consoles close by her. Togo, his eyes never leaving Morgan, moved sideways to remain between her and Iceni.

Morgan stopped beside a specialist hunched forward over her console as if intently focused on nothing but the information her instruments were reporting. But Drakon spotted the sheen of sweat on the back of the operator’s neck as Morgan’s sidearm rose again, the barrel coming to rest against the head of the worker. “Don’t worry,” Morgan said to the operator in soothing tones of mock-reassurance. “I won’t splatter your brains all over that equipment unless you try to hurt someone. No bombs nearby? No bombs on you? No bombs in you?” The specialist made vague sounds of denial. “That’s good. Maybe you’ll live. But I think some people want to talk to you before they make up their minds about that.”

“P-please,” the operator stuttered, visibly shaking with fear now. “I had to. M-my family—”

As two security guards ran up to stand by the unfortunate worker, Iceni gazed at the operator with an expression that could not have been harder had it been carved from granite. “Togo. Accompany the guards and this prisoner to a full-spectrum security cell. I want everything she knows, especially her contacts.” As Togo began to move, Iceni added one more directive. “I want the facts, whatever they are. Nothing more.”

The other workers nearby were gradually recovering from their own frozen shock, staring at their unfortunate former companion with faces in which growing anger and hate could be easily seen. “Snake.” The word could barely be heard as it was murmured first by those closest to the caught agent, then repeated by those farther off, until the entire command center was filled with a low hiss of recognition and rage.

Drakon could see the despair on the face of the snake agent as she heard that, as the single, repeated word made it clear that she might still breathe and think but was effectively already dead to those who had once been her friends.

Morgan saluted Drakon with a self-satisfied expression. “You wanted the snake. You got the snake.”

“Could you tell if she was working alone?”

“No, sir. I couldn’t get past the cutouts her contacts were using, but there are all kinds of footprints.”

“We couldn’t have expected to clean out the snakes,” Malin said, “just by getting the overt agents. If the snake files hadn’t been partially destroyed, we might have tracked every mole and hidden asset the snakes had in this star system.”

“Are you blaming me for that, Colonel?” Morgan asked.

“Of course not, Colonel.”

Drakon gestured to break up the argument. “You both did well. Colonel Malin localized the signal, and Colonel Morgan found the one who sent it. However, I want less drama next time, Colonel Morgan. A lot less drama. You should have known the President’s bodyguard would have seen you as a threat.”

She smiled, baring her canines. “I am a threat.”

“Not unless I tell you to engage someone, understood?”

“Yes, sir, yes, sir.” Morgan slid a sly glance at Malin. “You must be getting old. I could have nailed half the command center while you hesitated.”

Malin smiled back. “I may be a year older biologically, but in terms of maturity, I freely admit to being much older than you.”

“Knock it off,” Drakon ordered. “Morgan, don’t do anything like that again. Now, get on that operator’s console and see what you can find. Malin, scan systems planetwide for any indications that something might have been triggered from this console.”

As they went to work, Drakon walked over to Iceni, who did not seem to be in a very good mood despite finding the source of the message to the Syndicate flotilla.

“If,” Iceni said in the subzero tone of a CEO pronouncing a sentence on a subordinate, “that woman ever makes such a move in my presence again, I will treat her as an immediate and direct threat to me.”

Drakon paused, knowing exactly what that meant. Loyalty to Morgan warred within him against his developing relationship with Iceni and the grudging admission that Iceni had every right to be angry. “I thought we had an agreement. No more executions or assassinations unless we both sign off on it.”

“That agreement does not bind bodyguards, General Drakon. Don’t try to split hairs on this. She will be dead if she does anything like that again.”

He felt anger and stubbornness building, fighting to keep both emotions under control. “It won’t happen again. But if your assistant goes after Morgan, you might end up losing him instead of me losing her.”

Was that disappointment briefly apparent in Iceni’s eyes, swiftly covered by imperial wrath? “You’re threatening me? Threatening my closest associates? Now?”

“No.” His own antagonism was rising and made his next words less well-thought-out. “The matter was handled clumsily, but there was no intent to target you. You must be aware of that.”

“Do not use the word must to me, General. I am not required to act or think in ways that someone else finds appropriate.”

She was getting angrier. So was he. Break it off, you idiot. Keep pounding against this wall, and all you’ll accomplish is cracking your skull. “Perhaps we should discuss this later.”

“Perhaps we should.” Iceni’s glare swept the command center. “I will be in my private office monitoring everything from there.”

She stormed off, leaving Drakon fuming and feeling like he had lost even though she had been the one to leave this tiny field of battle. He cast a dark look across the command center, seeking anything to focus his ire upon, but everyone was at least pretending to be totally immersed in their duties. Dammit, Morgan. Can’t you use a little sense every once in a while? And why the hell didn’t Iceni accept that it was just a mistake?

Morgan must have known that acting like that would make Iceni mad as hell at her and at me—

She did know. Damn. You and I are going to have a long and clear talk, Colonel Morgan.

It took a strong effort of will to keep from slamming the door behind her as Iceni went back into the office. She managed to seal the door firmly but without the sort of force that would have drawn comments.

That stupid man! He must realize how that looked! That woman threatened me. If it had been anyone else, they would be dead.

I thought she was smart. Malin told me she was smart. Why would anyone who was smart do something so incredibly…

Because they meant to?

Iceni forced herself to calm down, carefully seating herself and staring at nothing as she tried to order her thoughts. Above the desk, the display showed the enigmas and Black Jack’s fleet slowly converging for an encounter that would not happen for some time yet. With that time to spare, Iceni focused on nearer events.

What if the whole thing was deliberate? The snake agent offered a cover for Morgan’s actions. Those actions could have been fully intended to provoke me into attacking her.

Morgan knows Drakon. He’s loyal to a fault. He got exiled to Midway because, when the snakes suspected one of his subordinates, he helped her get away. The snakes couldn’t prove it, but they could still retaliate against him.

She knew if I attacked one of Drakon’s subordinates, he would reflexively defend that subordinate. But why would Morgan want that? To drive a wedge between Drakon and myself. She can see that we’re working together. Maybe the brainless man has actually told Morgan that we have a relationship. A working relationship, I mean.

Morgan laid a trap, and an experienced CEO like myself stepped right into it. Malin was right about one thing at least, I can’t underestimate Morgan.

Malin… He had said something that had caught her interest. What was it? Age? Something about… “I may be a year older biologically.”

That was it. Why would Malin specify his age biologically relative to Morgan unless he knew her history? Malin must be aware that Morgan was actually about twenty years older than she appeared to be, having been frozen in survival sleep for that period in a suicide mission against the enigmas. The mission had been canceled, and Morgan had been one of only two of the volunteers recovered. But that mission, and Morgan’s role in it, was still classified at a level that Malin should never have gained access to. And Drakon was not the sort to have shared that kind of personal information about one subordinate with another subordinate.

Yet Malin knew about it. Perhaps he had been tipped off by the medical waiver that had allowed Morgan to return to the service despite mental impacts from the mission that left her borderline stable. Had he been able to find out why that waiver had been granted and by whom? That was a question well worth asking. Malin’s mother was in the medical service. That might be where he got the connections to learn that, and maybe to learn how someone like Morgan got that waiver in the first place.

Questions. Togo was off questioning the snake agent. There had been something bothering her about that. But what? The agent? The message?

No. Togo himself.

Iceni sat down, resting her elbows on the desk in front of her. She put her weight on her arms for a moment, relaxing her body and trying to think.

The shuttle. It had been too convenient, too easy.

Iceni checked the display again, seeing that Black Jack and the enigmas were still a good time away from contact. She tapped her comm tablet to put out a call. “Togo.”

“Yes, Madam President.” His response was almost immediate. Togo’s eyes, his face, his voice, all as usual revealed nothing, carrying only the soft tones of respect that she always heard from him.

“How did you so quickly determine who was on the shuttle that tried to flee this planet?” Iceni asked.

“It was a simple matter of checking location readouts for important individuals, Madam President.”

“And neither Governor Beadal nor Executive Fillis attempted to deceive the location-monitoring systems?” Iceni studied Togo closely, watching for any revealing reaction, but he maintained his poker face as he nodded.

“They did. Both attempts were easily spotted. Governor Beadal was using an older version of deception software and Executive Fillis employed a redirection mechanism that can be identified when searched for using the right parameters.”

It sounded right. A reasonable explanation. Am I simply being paranoid?

An old bit of CEO humor came back to her. What is the difference between a sane CEO and a paranoid CEO? The paranoid CEO is still alive.

“What have you learned from the snake agent?” Iceni asked.

“Nothing so far, Madam President. She never directly communicated with her snake handler. Cutouts were employed, single-use points of contact who disappeared after each set of instructions were given to her. She knows nothing of her handler except the code phrases used to verify that an order came from that handler.”

“Have you searched the back files for messages containing those code phrases?” Iceni demanded.

“Yes, Madam President. None are showing up even though the agent reveals no deception to the sensors in the interrogation room. Those messages may have contained coded instructions to wipe themselves a short time after receipt. The file names might still exist, but with no contents, those files would not appear in response to our search.”

Another dead end. Damn the snakes and damn Colonel Morgan and damn stubborn General Drakon and damn the enigmas—

“We have very likely learned all we can from the snake agent,” Togo said coolly. “Do you wish her retained for further questioning or disposed of?”

Iceni, angry at just about the entire universe at the moment, almost snapped a dismissive order to eliminate the agent. But she caught herself just before uttering that word. I know what he’s asking. Keep her locked up, or get rid of her? She’s a snake agent. Her life is already forfeit. If in a moment of insanity we let her go free, then her own former coworkers would kill her.

And yet…

“Retain her. I want her alive for now. Ensure she is not abused.” Some instinct told her that was the right answer. Why? She didn’t know. All the more reason to give that answer. She needed time to figure out why something was telling her to keep the snake agent alive. “Keep me informed of anything else you learn.”

After Togo’s image vanished, Iceni glared at the top of the desk, then looked carefully at the display above it again. The light from the first clash of the Alliance and enigma warships would be visible here soon. She levered herself to her feet and walked out of the office, trying to project every ounce of confidence and command that she possessed. Mess with me, will you, Colonel Morgan? Killing you might not be feasible now, but that doesn’t mean I can’t lay plans. And the next time you try to use Drakon’s loyalty to his subordinates against me, I’ll be ready.

Assuming Drakon had been motivated to defend Morgan by that loyalty and not by some other feeling toward Morgan.

Why that thought made Iceni bloom with renewed anger she didn’t know, but the anger just strengthened her resolve to reveal nothing of her feelings at this moment, to act as if she and Drakon were co-rulers without a hint of friction between them. She walked up to Drakon and smiled politely, using the posture Syndicate rules laid out for interactions between equals. “It won’t be long now before we see Black Jack and the enigmas cross swords.”

Drakon, who had been standing stiffly, looking across the command center with a thundercloud on his brow, turned a startled glance her way, the surprise quickly shading into relief, then suspicion. “Yes.”

At least he’s smart enough to say as little as possible so as to minimize the chance of saying the wrong thing. “The snake agent can’t identify any handlers.”

“I’m not surprised,” Drakon said. “The snakes know their business. Maybe if someone else questions her?” He left the question hanging, waiting to see how she would respond and whether she would announce that particular agent had been disposed of and wouldn’t be answering any more questions for anyone.

“Feel free,” Iceni replied.

“I will.”

“Good.”

“All right.”

The meaningless exchange of words ground to a halt as the level of tension in the command center rose in a perceptible fashion. Iceni looked at the display, her eyes on the distant warships. “Let’s see what Black Jack does. Or, rather, what he did.”

Hours ago, Black Jack’s diminished fleet had raced into contact with the enigmas and—“Huh?” Iceni said without thinking.

“Why did he swing so wide?” Drakon demanded. “He avoided an encounter.”

“I’m not certain.” Iceni studied the display, frowning, as the two forces began curving back up and around toward each other. Black Jack was known for last-second vector changes that allowed him to hit portions of his foe’s formation, but this time the vector change had been so large that the two forces had avoided contact. She couldn’t recall seeing any record of Black Jack misjudging an intercept that badly.

“General,” Colonel Malin called. “Those six ships.”

Everyone’s attention had been on Black Jack and the enigmas, the six mystery ships momentarily forgotten. At Malin’s prompt, eyes shifted that way.

One of the watch-standers was the first to grasp what was happening. “The enigmas aren’t continuing back around to attack the Alliance force. They’re aiming to intercept the six unknown ships.”

In response, the strange ships had fled straight up, though of course “up” and “down” meant nothing in space. But humans designated a plane in every star system, one side being up and the other down, to enable them to view things in a context they could understand. Iceni let out an involuntary gasp at the way the six ships maneuvered. “Magnificent.”

Drakon gave her a searching look. “They seem to be moving very… gracefully.”

“Yes. Graceful, controlled, smooth…” Iceni shook her head. “Whoever or whatever they are, they know how to drive ships.”

Far away and hours ago, Black Jack’s fleet tore across the bottom portion of the enigmas single-mindedly pursuing the six unknown ships, ripping away a large portion of the enigma armada. “Well done,” Iceni murmured. She noticed Drakon watching intently, trying to understand the tactics being employed, and felt pleased that he was smart enough not to dismiss a way of fighting alien to what he knew.

An alert flashed, drawing everyone’s attention back toward the jump point for Pele. Iceni stared at the data flashing into existence as automated systems evaluated what they were seeing. Alliance battleships, heavy cruisers, destroyers, auxiliaries, assault transports. “It’s the rest of Black Jack’s fleet,” she exclaimed as understanding struck. “He was chasing the enigmas here and came on with his swiftest ships.”

“All right,” Drakon said, “I can buy that. He wasn’t hurt nearly as badly as we thought. But what the hell is that?”

That was a huge ship whose identity was giving the automated systems the fits. Or was it a ship? “Madam President, it looks like something immense with four Alliance battleships attached to it.”

“It’s that big?” She stared at the data pouring in. “Towing it. Those battleships are providing propulsion for that thing.”

“It looks like a ship of some kind,” a specialist suggested. “But it doesn’t match anything in our files. It doesn’t look like anything ever built.”

“Anything ever built by humans,” Malin said.

“That’s not an enigma ship,” Iceni protested.

“I did not say it was, Madam President. But, whatever it is, I do not think that humans created it.”

Her eyes went back to the battle, seeing vectors bending about as Black Jack’s fleet and the enigma armada swung again.

“The enigmas are heading for the jump exit!” another specialist announced, sparking a ragged cheer from the workers.

But Iceni shook her head, dampening the celebration. “Look at that vector. They’re headed in that direction, but the enigmas are steadying out, aiming to intercept the second Alliance formation.”

Minutes crawled by, the automated systems confirming Iceni’s assessment, Black Jack’s battle cruisers coming around and steadying onto a stern chase after the enigmas, the six mystery ships continuing up a little ways but then heading in toward the star at a high rate of speed, away from all of the combatants. Whatever they were, they didn’t seem to be interested in fighting. Their vectors were bringing them rapidly closer to the planet where Iceni was, but they were still very far off, and she didn’t feel any sense of threat.

Drakon stepped closer to her to speak in a low voice. “What’s going to happen? Is that second Alliance force going to dodge like Black Jack did the first time?”

“They can’t,” Iceni replied. “Those battleships at their best can’t outmaneuver enigma ships, and they’re burdened with the support ships and that giant whatever-it is.”

“So what happens?”

“Look. The Alliance formation is compressing down. Battleships don’t depend on maneuvering in battle, General Drakon. They depend on armor, shields, and firepower.”

He nodded once, expression bleak. “A wall of death. Whoever is in charge of that formation is going to try to smash whatever comes at them. What will the enigmas do?”

They were once again talking without hindrance, the discomfort created by the earlier incident almost gone thanks to the requirements of dealing with new events. Iceni shook her head. “I don’t know what the enigmas will do. What they did, since it’s already happened. We don’t know enough about them.”

“Let’s hope Black Jack does.”

It took a while for the enigma armada to come into contact with the second Alliance formation, but this time no one took their eyes off of the main display. There was an awful inevitability to the clash this time, the sense of watching two objects coming into a collision from which little might survive.

“Madam President,” the senior supervisor said. “I have taken a close look at the enigma track. They are aiming for the dead center of the Alliance formation.”

“Meaning?” Iceni asked.

“They have highly maneuverable ships, Madam President. We know that much. Yet they are making an attack that seems to take no advantage of that, and they abandoned their attacks on the faster Alliance formation to assault the slower one.”

“Give me an assessment,” Iceni said, knowing her voice sounded harsh this time. “I can read data as well as anyone else. Tell me what it means.”

The supervisor swallowed nervously before speaking again. “Madam President, it argues that there is something in the new Alliance formation that the enigmas particularly want to destroy, and that something is in the center of their formation.”

Drakon pointed. “Their support ships are around the center of their formation, and that huge thing they brought with them is right in the middle.”

“They want it,” Iceni said. “You’re right. That’s the target. Whatever it is, they want to destroy it so badly that they’ve abandoned other targets.”

“The enigma formation is also closing down, tightening,” Malin pointed out.

“Yes, sir,” the supervisor agreed. “They intend to smash right into the middle of the Alliance formation.”

“This is going to be ugly,” Drakon growled. “I hate head-on attacks.”

In fact, as the two sides charged together, the main display lit with a kaleidoscope of flashes, alerts, and flares that would have looked pretty to someone who didn’t know those things represented massive destruction confined to a very small section of space. Silence fell in the command center as everyone watched the event.

“Never charge battleships head-on,” Iceni finally said, as the command center systems sorted out what could be seen. “Not unless you have battleships of your own that you don’t mind losing.” The Alliance force had taken some damage, but the enigma armada had been gutted, the entire closely packed center annihilated.

Drakon nodded heavily. “I’ll remember that.”

“General, if we get to the point where you’re commanding mobile forces, we’ll really be in trouble,” Iceni replied, feeling almost giddy with relief. Most of the enigma ships had been destroyed. Surely the others would—

“The enigma formation has broken into smaller pieces,” a watch specialist reported worriedly. “They are all coming around back toward… toward . . .”

Iceni watched, feeling tension rise once more. One group of enigma ships looked very much like it would be heading for the hypernet gate, where CEO Boyens and the Syndicate flotilla still waited, having sat out the battle so far. She wasn’t worried about what happened to Boyens, but if the enigmas attacked the gate—

“We have intercept vectors identified for enigma ship groupings. One is aimed at the hypernet gate, one is aimed at the gas giant, and the last at… at… this planet,” the specialist finally managed to say.

Everyone looked at her. Iceni, not knowing what to say or do, simply tried not to look as worried as she was. Kommodor Marphissa and her flotilla might be able to do something to protect the mobile forces facility orbiting the gas giant. That and the battleship had to be the targets of the group of enigma ships headed for the gas giant. There wasn’t anything she could do about the group heading for the hypernet gate except hope that Boyens would display more skill as a mobile forces commander than he had shown before.

But there wasn’t anything to stop the enigma ships coming toward this planet. Marphissa’s flotilla was too far out of position to manage an intercept. The Alliance warships, the battle cruisers and light cruisers and destroyers, had dissolved their formation and torn after the enigmas, but now were in a hopeless stern chase. If the enigmas came close enough to the planet, the surface defenses could engage them, but she felt a sick certainty that the aliens would not bother coming close to do what they wanted to do.

A strident alarm flashed red on the display, overriding everything else.

Drakon clenched one fist and looked at Iceni. “I know that alarm.”

“Yes,” Iceni said in a voice whose steadiness surprised her. The display was mechanically and unfeelingly providing the details of the death sentence she thought she might have miraculously avoided. “The enigmas have launched bombardment projectiles aimed at this planet. Seventy-two of them, many with substantial mass. That is enough to devastate the limited land area on this world and wipe out the human population.”

“What can we do?”

“Nothing, General Drakon. Absolutely nothing.”