Shattered Spear

Chapter Nine

Missiles tore away from Midway’s warships, the ones fired by Gryphon having such a close target that they impacted within seconds as Gryphon hurled a full volley of hell lances and grapeshot at the light cruiser. One moment that light cruiser was trying to bend its vector fast enough to hit Gryphon, and the next its entire forward section had been blown to dust, the stern section rolling wildly up and off to the side.

Pele had a slightly longer time to shoot, but the light cruiser aiming for her was already lined up for intercept. Kontos didn’t take any chances, pivoting Pele to ensure every possible weapon could come to bear on the attacker. The light cruiser was hit by a barrage that immediately collapsed its shields, tore through the light armor on its bow, then ripped down the length of the ship.

Pele continued onward, a field of small debris and dust passing astern and beneath her marking the remains of the second light cruiser.

The heavy cruisers which had been pretending to pursue the light cruisers had also altered vectors, swinging through an arc as they aimed to hit Gryphon before she could rejoin Pele.

“They weren’t planning to ram,” Mercia said, her eyes intent on her display. “The light cruisers were going to get right next to our ships and detonate their power cores. Gryphon would have been destroyed and Pele crippled, then the heavy cruisers would have finished her off.”

“There haven’t been any escape pods coming off what is left of the light cruiser that went after Gryphon,” Bradamont noted. “I wonder how large the crews were on those light cruisers?”

Kapitan Stein on Gryphon hadn’t done the instinctive thing and tried to evade the heavy cruisers, which would have only slowed down Gryphon and made her an easier target, instead charging right into the attack. The three ships had rocketed past each other at a combined velocity of nearly point three light speed, so fast that even their automated fire control systems could not compensate for the relativistic distortion that warped the ships’ views of each other. Every shot fired missed.

With Pele now bearing down on them and Gryphon swinging in a vast arc to intercept again, the two Syndicate heavy cruisers bolted back for the jump point. The Syndicate warships had not finished their own turn back when Pele raced past above them and hammered one of the heavy cruisers so badly that it began sliding off to one side, unable to maneuver.

The second heavy cruiser abandoned its comrade, accelerating all out, as Gryphon swung in from one side and below to hit it in another swift pass. Gryphon rolled out and began a huge, graceful arc aimed this time at the crippled Syndicate heavy cruiser, while Pele settled onto a stern chase of the fleeing cruiser.

Bradamont watched as Gryphon had hit the damaged heavy cruiser again, suffering some hits herself but taking out some of the Syndicate warship’s weapons and inflicting some damage in its main propulsion. Hurt as it was and trapped inside an enemy star system, the Syndicate heavy cruiser was doomed. Bradamont waited to see escape pods begin to launch as the Syndicate crew abandoned ship.

Instead, before Gryphon could finish swinging up and around for another firing run, the heavy cruiser had abruptly dropped its remaining shields and shut down its weapons.

The transmission from that ship resembled the earlier ones from the light cruiser, but did not have any feeling of having been staged. An Executive Fourth Class with blood running unheeded down one arm of his suit spoke in halting words. “We surrender to you. All snakes aboard this unit are dead. We swear it! This isn’t a trick. We won’t fire on you again. We heard that Iceni and Drakon are for the people. We surrender.”

The second heavy cruiser kept fleeing despite the very small lead it had, firing on Pele as the battle cruiser finally overtook it. With a fairly small relative velocity to the heavy cruiser, Pele was able to methodically smash the heavy cruiser from stern to bow as the Syndicate warship made futile attempts to outmaneuver its foe. Only a few escape pods launched before the second heavy cruiser’s power core overloaded because of the damage, and blew the battered warship into fragments.

Bradamont, realizing she had been sitting on Midway’s bridge for a long time watching the battle that had played out hours ago, stretched and smiled. “Kapitan Mercia,” she said loudly. “Black Jack would be proud to have such ships and such men and women fighting alongside his own.”

Mercia’s eyebrows went up. She knew that Bradamont almost always referred to Admiral Geary by his name and rank, not using the Black Jack nickname that Syndicate and former-Syndicate personnel always employed. Then Mercia gave Bradamont a genuine smile, different from her usual stiffness toward the Alliance officer. “One of his own would know.”

Another alert, this one a mild tone. Mercia gestured toward the symbol that had appeared at the jump point from Iwa. “Manticore has returned. Your chance for glory has passed.”

“You don’t know how glad I am to know that.”

Moments later, the first transmission from Manticore arrived. As she watched and listened to Marphissa’s report, Bradamont felt any sense of relief fading rapidly.

Drakon studied Kommodor Marphissa’s report, knowing that his expression was falling into grim lines. “Which major problem are we going to discuss first?”

“Oh, why not the enigmas and their secret base,” Iceni said. She looked tired and unhappy, which wasn’t too surprising considering the matters that needed to be addressed.

“Their deep underground secret base,” Drakon said, knowing that Gwen Iceni wouldn’t want him to soft-pedal anything. “Deep, deep underground. Probably designed for defense, with a lot of angles to hide behind, choke points to funnel attackers into, and materials that will block sensors and communications by enemy forces.”

Gwen Iceni had called a meeting when Marphissa’s report came in. They all sat in another conference room at Drakon’s headquarters. With at least one potential assassin running loose on the planet, it made sense to avoid using the same rooms or the same routes or the same routines. Predictability made a killer’s job much, much easier.

“The corridors would very likely be designed as a maze,” Colonel Malin added.

“And,” Drakon continued heavily, “we would be attacking enigmas, who, according to Black Jack’s reports, prefer to blow things up rather than have them captured.” He looked toward Captain Bradamont, who had returned to the planet just in time for this meeting.

Bradamont nodded. “Ships, installations, you name it. It seemed everything we encountered was rigged with self-destruct capability. The enigmas don’t want anything left that could provide any information or clues about them.”

“You’re saying an assault by ground forces would be a suicide mission,” Iceni observed, looking steadily off to one side.

“Effectively, yes,” Drakon said, wishing he knew what Gwen was thinking.

“Do you think that those ground forces workers who were rescued by Manticore will be able to provide any useful intelligence?”

Drakon nodded. “They already have. Manticore is still a ways from reaching this planet, but my ground code monkeys were able to walk the space code monkeys through accessing and downloading the data in the battle armor. Most of the data is a lot of nothing as those soldiers lay low waiting for rescue, but they got some decent data on the enigma attack that killed most of their unit.”

Iceni gave him a look. “That attack employed distance weapons, I understand. What did you learn from it?”

Colonel Malin answered. “Madam President, we were able to confirm from the battle armor status and records that the ground forces unit they were in was not leaking electronic signals when they were targeted by the enigmas. All of their emissions were extremely low power and extremely short-range, to tie their armor into a single tactical net.”

“Which means,” Drakon said, “that the enigmas are very, very good at spotting even tiny indications of comm and active sensor activity by our forces. But when those three soldiers went totally passive, nothing went after them. That might mean the enigmas don’t routinely employ active seekers.”

Iceni raised an eyebrow at Drakon. “Why would it imply that?”

“Because our own distance strike weapons are at least dual-seeker systems. If they don’t spot anything using the passive seeker that is looking for electronic signals, they automatically switch to active, or infrared, or visual. Visual can be movement triggered or look for shape matches.”

“If they don’t use active seekers,” Bradamont commented, “that’s consistent with the enigmas’ desire to remain hidden. Active paints your position loud and clear for anyone watching.”

“But what about IR?” Colonel Gozen asked. “That’s passive. But if the enigma weapons had automatically shifted to IR targeting they would have nailed those three soldiers.”

“IR might be a blind zone for them,” Drakon agreed. “I wish those three soldiers had gotten even a long-range look at some enigmas operating on the surface so we’d have at least a basic idea of what kind of protective suits or armor they use, and what sort of weapons they carry.” He shook his head ruefully. “I used to be unhappy about Syndicate intelligence reports that couldn’t tell me little details about new Alliance ground threats. I never realized how much basic and very important information I already knew as a matter of course.”

Colonel Malin frowned. “It is possible that the enigmas try to do all of their ground fighting at long range, beyond line of sight, so as to minimize any chance of being seen by a foe.”

“Even other enigmas?” Iceni asked. “Surely they don’t worry about other enigmas seeing them.”

“Such a strong motivation cannot operate in a vacuum,” Malin said. “The enigma desire for privacy, for remaining hidden, must influence their interactions with each other.”

Bradamont called up some images on her data pad, studying them. “When Admiral Geary’s fleet was in enigma-owned star systems we got long-range looks at enigma towns, but those looks were obscured by privacy fields over the towns. The fields appeared to be a routine thing. About all we could tell was that the towns were almost all coastal and were about half in the water and half along the surface of the coast.”

“The enigmas certainly live up to their names,” Gozen commented. “Could Black Jack’s ships have spotted deep underground installations like the enigmas are building at Iwa?”

“No,” Bradamont said. “Maybe if we had gotten in close we could have spotted traces, but getting in close would, we thought, lead the enigma population on the surface to commit mass suicide. Admiral Geary did not want to commit genocide.”

“Good for him,” Drakon commented. “But is it genocide if the other guys decide to kill themselves?”

“They’re dead either way,” Iceni said. “Even if it is second-degree genocide instead of first-degree. But after seeing those images of Iwa, I’m not sure I would have been as restrained as Black Jack was. Let me summarize. We know very little of enigma ground combat capabilities, except that they have signal detection capabilities markedly superior to our own and highly effective distance weapons. We know that they are building a base of some kind deep underground on that planet at Iwa. And we know, from what they did at Iwa, that the enigmas have not altered their basic approach to humanity.”

“Wiping out all trace of humans might be described as an approach,” Drakon said, wondering why he found the phrasing comical. “Here’s something else we can be sure of. Even if we overcome their defenses against ground attack, which I think we could do, but that has to be a guess since we know so little about the enigmas’ ground combat capabilities or how many enigmas are at this base, then from all we know the enigmas would have dead-men switches built into their gear to ensure their installation, and all of our troops, were blown to hell on the heels of our victory.”

“Dead-enigma switches,” Iceni said.

“What?”

“You said dead-man switches.” Iceni moved her head slowly to look at everyone else. “We’ve gone over the difficulties. Can any of you tell me how we can do this?”

“Why not just drop a big enough rock on the planet to reach however deep the enigmas are?” Drakon asked, unhappy at the idea of sending his soldiers against a foe of essentially unknown capabilities and strength.

“That would be one hell of a rock,” Bradamont said.

“It would take time,” Iceni said. “We would have to round up a local asteroid or minor planet that was big enough and boost it toward the target planet. It would take a while to get there. Besides that, we need to capture some enigma technology. Maybe some records that we can exploit. We still know almost nothing about them.”

“We know they keep attacking us,” Drakon said.

“But we don’t know why!”

“General Charban, who accompanied Admiral Geary’s fleet,” Captain Bradamont explained, “thought that it was pure paranoia in human terms. The enigmas may think that as long as we inquisitive humans are close enough to the enigmas, as long as we exist, we will keep trying to learn about the enigmas, keep trying to penetrate the screen of secrecy they maintain. We tried to use that as basis for establishing a peace agreement, promising that we would never violate their privacy if they did not attack us, but they never responded.”

“Except with more attacks,” Malin pointed out. “Paranoia would cause the enigmas to conclude that we will always violate any agreement and always be a threat to them.”

“I said paranoia in human terms,” Bradamont corrected. “Whatever drives enigma thinking and actions appears to have common elements with what we’d call paranoia, but they’re not human, and their ways of thinking may have major variations on how a human with paranoia would perceive things.”

“Captain,” Malin said, his words precise and cold, “while both General Drakon and President Iceni have expressed distaste at the idea of genocide, we may eventually be forced to engage in a war of elimination with the enigmas. We will have no choice.”

Drakon felt a reflexive tightening in his gut at Malin’s words. “We’ve spent the last century in a war that became more and more a war of elimination, Colonel. I’m personally sick of that kind of thing.”

“But if it is our only option—”

“You know I always ask for at least two options,” Drakon interrupted. “There are always at least two options.” He paused, then gave Iceni a sidelong look. “Just like our beloved President asked for more options a minute ago. And one option to beginning a genocidal war is learning enough about the enigmas to figure out what else might work, which takes us back to capturing that base. Colonel, can we come up with a way to take that enigma installation that doesn’t involve suicide for our soldiers and the enigmas alike?”

Malin hesitated, frowning in thought.

“What are they going to expect us to do?” Bradamont said. “That’s one thing Admiral Geary always tried to work out. What does the enemy expect to happen?”

“Because then you can do something the enemy doesn’t expect?” Iceni said, smiling slightly.

“More than that,” Bradamont said. “It also tells you what kind of defenses the enemy will have, what kind of plans. If they are anything like humans in terms of thinking, they are going to configure their plans around what they expect us to do, and their defenses will be focused on countering our expected weapons and tactics.”

Colonel Gozen spoke up for the first time. “Like those long-range weapons that hit the soldiers at Iwa, targeting them using their battle armor net. I’ve been told the enigmas had been secretly watching us fight the Alliance during the whole war? So they know our standard tactics, and they’ve seen our ground force weapons in use.”

“Alliance tactics, too,” Bradamont said. “But Admiral Geary still figured out ways to outthink the enigmas and frustrate their plans.”

“Admiral Geary isn’t here,” Iceni pointed out. “It would be wonderful if Black Jack showed up with his fleet, ready to lead the charge against the enigmas, but all indications on that front are that he is tied up at home.”

“Captain Desjani told me that the Admiral always insisted he was not special, that it was just a matter of learning from mistakes, anticipating enemy moves, and trying new things.”

“Captain Desjani?” Gozen asked.

“The captain of the Admiral’s flagship,” Bradamont explained. “She said Admiral Geary was always listening to others’ ideas, and always asking advice. I’ve been able to watch you in action. Kommodor Marphissa, and Kapitans Mercia and Kontos, Colonel Rogero, and you, General Drakon. You’ve repeatedly succeeded because you’ve outthought the Syndicate Worlds forces and done things they did not expect.”

“Luck played a role, too,” Drakon pointed out. He had felt an unexpected burst of pleasure at hearing Bradamont implying that he and his officers were the equal of Black Jack, but he wasn’t about to let the unanticipated praise go to his head. “How do we know what the enigmas will expect?”

“You said it yourself!” Bradamont pointed to Gozen. “Or, rather, your new colonel did. The enigmas will expect any ground attack from you to match what they have seen Syndicate Worlds ground forces do during the war.”

“A head-on attack with everything we’ve got, heedless of casualties,” Drakon said. “Preattack bombardment, by orbiting warships and any artillery we have landed on the planet, followed by combat engineers breaching outer defenses, then systematic overrunning of the entire complex.”

Malin nodded. “A mix of energy and projectile weapons in the hands of the soldiers, employed along with smoke to screen our attacks, and localized electromagnetic pulses to neutralize enemy systems within limited areas.”

“Stealth armor and special forces,” Gozen added.

“We used those last two in enigma space,” Bradamont said. “To rescue the human prisoners inside that asteroid.”

“Then the enigmas will be doubly on guard against that threat,” Drakon said, leaning back to think. “I bet we can come up with something those guys don’t expect. But how do we neutralize the dead-ma—I mean, the dead-enigma switches that are certain to be in place?”

“Offensive software and hackers are out,” Malin said. “The enigmas know how our systems work because of all of the human ships and ground facilities they have captured over time, but we know nothing about theirs. They probably have defenses against the most sophisticated weapons we could put together, including jammers focused on every aspect of our weapons, communications, and sensors.”

“Too bad we can’t just hit them with rocks,” Gozen said. “Not big ones dropped from orbit. Just one-on-one, look them in the eye, then whap them in the head and anywhere else that hurts. You can’t jam a rock.”

Iceni raised one hand to stop the conversation. “What did you say, Colonel Gozen?”

Gozen looked startled. “You can’t jam a rock, Madam President.”

“You said more than that.”

“Um, yes. Too bad we can’t look them in the eyes and hit them close-up.”

Drakon suddenly understood what Iceni was driving at. “You’re thinking we should fry the whole installation? Knock out every piece of equipment, every circuit, everything that isn’t a manual brute-force-operated widget? Is that possible?” he asked Malin.

Malin shook his head. “The enigmas know we use EMPs tactically. And they are a spacefaring race who has had to deal with radiation in that environment. They will have their equipment well shielded, and their critical equipment very well shielded.”

Bradamont laughed. “Oh. Yeah. And I know what they’ll use.” Everyone looked at her. “Water,” Bradamont explained. “The best natural radiation shield that exists, and still one of the best radiation shields period. The enigmas are semiaquatic from what we saw of their worlds. They would need a lot of water in that underground facility.”

“Where would they get all that water on a rock like that planet?” Gozen wondered.

Iceni checked her data. “The same place the Syndicate colony used to get it. Underground reservoirs. Oh, hell. What do you bet they partially drained one of the big, deep reservoirs to flood their excavations, and fixed up the partially drained void to take advantage of it?”

“They are apparently digging deep enough that could work,” Malin said.

“How do we fry something on the bottom of a swimming pool that is beneath a hell of a lot of rock?” Gozen demanded. “And even the best stealth battle armor can’t hide something moving through water.”

The ensuing silence stretched for more than a minute before Iceni rubbed her eyes with one hand. “All right. What about the other big problem?”

Drakon chose his words carefully. “Imallye seems to have a grudge against you.”

“You think?” Iceni glared toward a vacant corner again. “I didn’t know the name Granaile Imallye. I had no idea she was the same person in my own past as the one who called herself Grace O’Malley after an ancient hero of hers. But it seems she is.”

“She hates you,” Bradamont said.

“Yes.” Iceni inhaled deeply before saying anything else. “I must share one of the things in my past that I regret the most. You all know that I was exiled to Midway because of my involvement with reporting an illegal scheme by another CEO. What you don’t know is that I actually fingered the wrong person when I reported it.”

“Why did the Syndicate exile you for that?” Drakon asked, realizing he was probably the only person in the room who would dare to ask for more information.

She lowered her head, avoiding his gaze. “The Syndicate didn’t care that I had accused the wrong person. That’s because the CEO actually behind the scheme had planted extensive evidence implicating a sub-CEO. I admit that I thought I was safe reporting on malfeasance by a sub-CEO, but I also believed that he was guilty of a plot that was diverting important money and resources away from the tasks the Syndicate had ordered me to undertake.

“But that sub-CEO had been set up to take a fall by a very powerful CEO, who also set me up to take a fall. Like a fool, I reported the sub-CEO, who was conveniently executed before he could provide any information about the powerful CEO. Then evidence of the sub-CEO’s innocence miraculously appeared, and the powerful CEO used it to brand me as a loose cannon who might cause problems for other CEOs in the future. The powerful CEO went on making lots of money in various legal and illegal schemes, I got exiled to Midway, the sub-CEO was dead, and…” Iceni paused, raised her head, and finally looked at Drakon. “The sub-CEO’s daughter swore that she would make me pay for the death of her father.”

Most of those present simply absorbed the information, but Drakon noticed that Captain Bradamont appeared to be baffled. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I can see how hard it is for you to speak of this, Madam President, but how did the sub-CEO get executed so quickly that he couldn’t even give testimony?”

Iceni shifted her gaze to the Alliance officer. “He was accused of a serious crime.”

“But—” Bradamont looked around at the others for enlightenment, even more confused. “There wasn’t any trial?”

“Of course there was a trial. It took five minutes. The sub-CEO wasn’t allowed to testify because, of course, a criminal wouldn’t tell the truth, his lawyer had been appointed by the Syndicate and did nothing, the judge who was appointed by the Syndicate and controlled by the Syndicate pronounced the sub-CEO guilty, and ten minutes after that the sub-CEO was executed for his crimes.”

Bradamont’s mouth had fallen open. She closed her eyes and looked away. “I’m sorry, I—”

“That’s the sort of thing we revolted against,” Drakon said, feeling both upset by her reaction and defensive because he had, after all, been a part of that Syndicate system.

“That’s how the Syndicate works,” Gozen added. “Same thing happened to my uncle. It doesn’t matter if you’re innocent. The system assumes that you wouldn’t have been accused if you weren’t guilty, and anything you say to defend yourself is just proof that you’re refusing to admit to your guilt. If you confess to your crimes, maybe they’ll go a little easier on you and send you to a labor camp instead of executing you. Or maybe you’ll accuse someone else, someone they want to nail, and that might help make things a little easier for you.”

“And I knew all that,” Iceni said, her voice tight. “Yet I accused that man anyway. I am responsible for his death.”

“You’ve made extensive reforms to the justice system on Midway,” Drakon insisted. “To prevent just that sort of thing from happening. Sorry if this all shocks you, Captain Bradamont.”

Bradamont shook her head, looking embarrassed. “No. It didn’t shock me. The reason I reacted as I did was because… because the Alliance was well on its way down that same road. Not for every crime. But for some. There were a lot of people, a lot of political leaders, saying that if someone was accused of certain crimes then trials weren’t necessary. We should just punish them as if certain of their guilt because they had been accused, because they were suspected of having committed crimes or planning to commit crimes. It went against every legal principle that the Alliance was supposed to stand for, but it happened. Admiral Geary, after he awoke from his century in survival sleep, he told us that we had become too much like our enemy. That we had let the long war change us, so that we were willing to do the same things the Syndicate Worlds did. It is difficult to be reminded of just how true that was.

“However,” she added, looking at Iceni, “if this Imallye is going to pursue a vendetta against you, when both the enigmas and the Syndicate Worlds threaten this region of space, then she’s being an idiot. Nothing she does to you will bring her father back, but what she does can end up causing the deaths of countless more people.”

“Thank you,” Iceni replied. She looked away again, staying silent for a moment. “Unfortunately, as you have seen from Kommodor Marphissa’s report, Granaile Imallye doesn’t want to listen to reason. The question is, will she try to set up her own base at Iwa? Or will she launch an attack in the near future against us here, coming in either from Iwa or the longer way around through Laka?”

“From what the Kommodor says,” Gozen offered, “Imallye is as mad as hell right now. People with that kind of mad on don’t take detours on their way to revenge.”

“That would be my assumption as well,” Drakon said. “Imallye not only wants her revenge on you, now she also wants to get even with the Kommodor for embarrassing her in her own backyard and messing up her battle cruiser.”

“How long do you think it will take to repair the damage to Imallye’s battle cruiser?” Iceni asked Bradamont.

Bradamont shrugged. “It depends partly on what repair capabilities exist at Moorea. From the data that Manticore brought back, I agree with her engineers that the damage to the battle cruiser’s propulsion was widespread but didn’t penetrate to require propulsion unit replacement. That’s not a criticism,” she added. “Manticore needed to knock out as much propulsion capability on that battle cruiser as she could in a very short time, and was highly successful at that.”

She frowned in thought. “I’d estimate it would have taken Imallye at least a week to get that battle cruiser back to a repair facility, and after that anything from three weeks to six weeks to repair the damage that Manticore caused. That’s assuming that Imallye does a good job of motivating the repair workers.”

Iceni smiled thinly. “You do know what motivating the workers means in the Syndicate, don’t you?”

“I’ve seen enough to guess,” Bradamont replied in dry tones. “Unfortunately, we have only a vague idea of what Imallye’s forces add up to. She certainly has more than were at Moorea, but how much more, and how long will it take her to marshal them at Moorea, and how much will she have to leave behind to ensure none of the star systems she controls decide to change their allegiance?”

“We can preempt whatever move Imallye is planning,” Colonel Malin suggested. “Move into Iwa, ensure that Imallye knows we have set up a base there, and wait for her to react.”

“Why would she come to Iwa?” Bradamont asked. “If Midway places enough forces at Iwa to deal with Imallye, then Imallye could just go around through Laka and hit Midway.”

“Imallye wants President Iceni,” Malin said calmly. “If she is at Iwa, personally supervising our forces—”

“I don’t like that idea,” Drakon growled, feeling angry at Malin for suggesting it. “President Iceni is not bait for a trap.”

“She would be commanding a substantial portion of our warships, sir. If she were aboard the battleship Midway, she would be both well protected and able to strike back.”

Drakon shook his head. “That’s what the Syndicate thought when they set up their ambush at Ulindi. I’m sure Happy Hua felt completely safe aboard that Syndicate battleship, but there’s nothing left of her except dust floating in a debris field orbiting Ulindi.”

Iceni had given him a sharp look. “General,” she said, “I have to admit that Colonel Malin’s plan has merit. Our biggest problem is that we face two major threats, the enigmas and Imallye, and have to worry about splitting our forces to defend against them. But if we can suck both the enigmas and Imallye into Iwa, the enigmas by attacking their hidden base and Imallye by offering my presence, then we will be able to maximize the forces with which we can confront those threats.”

“You’re forgetting the Syndicate,” Drakon grumbled. “That’s a third threat.”

“The Syndicate wouldn’t have tried an attack with four cruisers if they had something more substantial on hand or expected soon. We hurt them badly at Ulindi, and we are but one of numerous star systems that are rebelling against the Syndicate, whose forces are stretched thin.”

“Or it was an attempt to wear us down before a bigger force hits us,” Drakon said, wondering himself if he was arguing plausible threats or simply trying to dissuade Iceni from considering Malin’s idea.

“Perhaps,” Iceni commented. “Captain Bradamont, as the closest thing to a neutral observer available to us, what do you think of the way the Syndicate tried to take out Pele and Gryphon?”

Bradamont made a face. “The crew of the heavy cruiser that surrendered said the light cruisers were not crewed at all, operating on automated targeting and attack routines. The transmissions coming from them were animated on the fly by routines designed to react as well as they could to whatever was happening. That could mean that after all of their losses the Syndicate Worlds is so short on trained crew members that they couldn’t afford to lose even skeleton crews on a suicide mission. Or it could mean that they didn’t trust a human crew to carry out the planned attack.”

“What did they tell us about other Syndicate forces in this region?”

“They didn’t know of any,” Bradamont said. “But, since the senior officers on the heavy cruiser died, and one of the snakes aboard managed to fry most of the classified data before he was killed, that might just mean the few junior officers who survived the battle and the mutiny were not given that information.”

“Junior officers are rarely told about the big picture,” Gozen said.

“What do you think of Colonel Malin’s suggested plan?” Iceni asked.

Bradamont cast a wary glance at Drakon but spoke without hesitation. “I believe it is a promising concept, and perhaps the best option available if the problem of how to capture the enigma base can be addressed.”

Iceni looked at Drakon. “You’re unhappy with the idea, though. Do you consider it too risky?”

Drakon took a long moment to answer as he considered possible replies. But the real reason for his objection, one he had only fully realized when everyone else was talking, was one he did not wish to discuss in front of others. “I would like to speak to you about my reasons in private. Just the two of us.”

“Certainly.” Iceni waved the others present toward the door. “Wait for us outside and see that we are not disturbed unless there is an emergency.”

Bradamont, Malin, and Gozen left, closing the door behind them. There wasn’t anything unusual about two high-ranking individuals holding a private conference. Iceni waited until the security lights above the door glowed green to indicate a secure environment before she turned an inquiring look on Drakon. “All right. We’re alone. What are your reasons?”

Drakon found it unexpectedly hard to speak. “I don’t like the plan.”

“Artur,” Iceni said with a sigh, “I can’t work with that. I need reasons.”

“My reasons are difficult to explain,” Drakon said, frowning at the surface of the desk in front of him.

She sounded frustrated. “Do you dislike the strategy? Do you think there’s another, better approach?”

“I don’t—” Drakon set his mouth in an angry line. “I admit that the strategy has potential. But I do not like it.”

“You’ve made that clear. But we have to evaluate this idea on its merits,” Iceni insisted. “Impartially and purely in terms of its likelihood to succeed.”

Drakon met her eyes, struggled with himself, and with every bit of don’t expose yourself, don’t trust anyone, don’t admit to any potential vulnerability or weakness that he had been taught by the Syndicate, then finally said it. “I can’t do that.”

She eyed him in return, puzzled. “You can’t do what?”

“Evaluate it impartially. This plan involves a serious threat to you.”

“And I’m your most important ally,” Iceni said patiently. “I understand that you would face some difficulties maintaining order at Midway if I was killed, but—”

“Dammit, Gwen, I’m not talking about you as an ally! I… don’t want to see you hurt! I don’t want to face a universe without you.”

She seemed perplexed, then revealed growing astonishment. “Artur Drakon, was that your idea of an avowal of affection?”

He looked away, not sure what to say. “Call it what you want. I thought you might also… Sometimes it seemed that you… that you wouldn’t mind if I… felt like that. But you don’t seem to be happy about it.”

“I’m… surprised. I thought your tastes in women ran a lot more exotic than a beat-up run-of-the-mill type like me.”

Drakon stared at her, trying to figure out if Iceni was joking. “No. And that’s not how I see you.”

“Really?” She leaned her head on one fist, watching him. “Something must be wrong with your vision, and since I know you’re physically all right, the problem must be mental or emotional or both. Just what is influencing how you see me, Artur Drakon?”

He struggled for words again. “I… care about what happens to you.”

“You already said that. Now, you are blocking a perfectly viable plan for dealing with serious threats to this star system. I think I deserve to know exactly why you don’t want to consider that plan.”

She sounded absolutely serious. Had all the times he thought she might have been interested in him just been misinterpretations on his part? One CEO could never trust another CEO. That was a basic rule of the Syndicate, a rule both he and Gwen had seen proven by the treachery and double-crossing actions of other CEOs while they were still part of the Syndicate, a rule that had kept them at arm’s length from each other for some time. But he had come to trust Gwen, to more than trust her, and he had thought she might feel the same way. He wasn’t going to back down without finding out for certain. Drakon steeled himself and said the words. “It’s because… I… want to form a permanent joint venture with you, Gwen.”

Iceni’s eyes widened. “You do?”

“I’m… pretty sure I do.” He couldn’t tell how she took that. “I just… it’s…”

She held up a restraining hand. “You know, Artur, if I didn’t like you, I’d keep forcing you to try to be articulate when discussing your feelings regarding… my value as a partner. But I’m going to have mercy on you.”

“Meaning what?” He was feeling cross now, upset by his inability to speak clearly. He had led forces in combat, calling out orders without hesitation as enemy forces rained death all around, but now he found his tongue tied and words sticking in his throat.

She smiled. A genuine, affectionate smile. “You big oaf. I’ve been trying to avoid feeling the same way about you. Unsuccessfully trying. You are an exceptional man, with enormous potential as a partner, as well as being exasperating and difficult at times. But I know I am also exasperating and difficult at times. Let’s have dinner tonight, just you and me, no one else, no recordings of anything by anyone, and talk about not just threats and strategies and problems, but about each other and what we expect from the deal. If we’re going to make this cooperation between us into a long-term, binding deal, we need to have a chance to discuss it.”

He could not help smiling back at her. “Like any other business deal, huh?”

“Oh, hell, no. A very special business deal. We’ll have dinner at my headquarters and see how it goes. All right? And even if it all goes well, that plan may still have to be on the table, Artur, unless we can come up with a good alternative. I had to see you off to Ulindi. You may have to see me off to Iwa.” She stood up, then took two quick steps and kissed him quickly before stepping back again. “Don’t disappoint me. Please don’t disappoint me.”

Drakon stood as well, still smiling and still feeling the touch of her lips on his. “I don’t let anyone down, Gwen.”

She laughed. “Ah, yes. My loyal knight, his armor a bit worn and torn, but still determined to fight to the last for what he believes in. Do you really believe in me?”

That one was easy. “Yes.”

Iceni looked away, still smiling. “I’ll see you at dinner.”

She left, head high and a bounce in her step. Colonel Malin, waiting outside, gave her a speculative look before following her.

Drakon walked out of the conference room and saw both Bradamont and Gozen watching Iceni leave. Both women switched their gazes to him, neither revealing anything in their expressions. For some reason that irritated Drakon.

“I’m going to be having dinner with President Iceni tonight,” he told Gozen. “To… discuss the proposed plan. You won’t be needed. It’ll be a private dinner.”

“Yes, sir,” Gozen said, poker-faced. “Is it possible the meeting will run late?”

Drakon’s gaze on her sharpened, but Gozen wasn’t betraying any hint of what she was thinking. “Possibly.”

“I’ll arrange transportation, sir,” Gozen said.

“Thank you.” Drakon walked toward his office, fighting off a temptation to look backward suddenly to see if Bradamont and Gozen were daring to crack smiles.