Tarnished Knight

Chapter Eighteen

Drakon’s mood didn’t match his information.

“You seem to have succeeded in everything we agreed you should go to Taroa to do,” Iceni said.

“Not everything,” Drakon replied. “There wasn’t even the beginnings of a stable government when we left.”

“You could scarcely wait around until there was one. From what my representatives reported, Taroa is already leaning toward a formal alliance with us. That will be a start, and an incentive for other star systems near us to consider the same.” Iceni rubbed her eyes with one hand. “In less positive news, I assume that you’ve heard from Colonel Rogero.”

“And I assume that you’ve had no success in tracking down whoever tried to kill him.”

She lowered her hand to lock eyes with him. “I gave orders that Colonel Rogero not be harmed. If anyone connected with me attempted it, they did so against my orders, and I will ensure that they regret it.”

Drakon watched her for a moment before replying. “Are you implying that somebody connected with me tried to kill Colonel Rogero?”

“I have no information on it, General, so, no, I’m not implying that.” She wondered why Drakon had jumped on that possibility so quickly. Was he worried about someone close to him? Was her own source in danger of being compromised?

He shook his head. “I find it hard to believe that some citizen took a shot at him. But more hidden snakes…”

“Could be involved,” Iceni agreed. “Everyone is looking for such a nest.”

Drakon nodded this time, rousing from his moodiness. “I wanted to make a point to mention how well Kommodor Marphissa did. We had zero problems with coordination and support. I’ve never worked with a better mobile forces commander.”

“That’s very good to hear. I was going to give her command of the battleship when it becomes operational.”

“She should handle that easily,” Drakon said. “But I hope she retains command of more than that. She handled formations and multiple units well.”

“I’ll remember that.” Why was Drakon making such a point to praise Marphissa? They had both been on that heavy cruiser for a while. Drakon’s staff thought that Marphissa was their agent already. Had he actually turned Marphissa against Iceni or made enough progress toward that to want her somewhere with greater authority in the mobile forces? “You brought back a lot of good shipyard workers. They’ll enable us to get the battleship here operational much faster than anticipated.”

“How soon?”

“Two months.”

“That’s still one hell of a big threat window,” Drakon muttered, then, as if sensing that she might take that as criticism, glanced at her. “I appreciate that there’s little else either of us can do to get it ready faster. But we’ll want to get a lot of those workers back to Taroa as soon as we can to work on that second hull.”

Iceni sighed. “A year to finish that one. Let’s hope we’re granted that much time.”

“A year on the outside. Maybe we can push that, get more out of the workers now by offering real rewards.” Drakon eyed her defiantly. “Maybe bonuses for workers instead of executives.”

She raised both eyebrows at him. “I didn’t know you were such a radical. We need the executives and subexecutives on our side, too. Perhaps bonuses for all based on actual results?”

That brought a brief, sardonic smile from Drakon. “Basing bonuses on results? And you’re calling me a radical?”

“If you don’t object, we can see how such a system might work, knowing that our people have been taught by the Syndicate system to game any method of evaluation. There might be ways to keep them focused on producing the results we want. Is there anything else?” Iceni asked. His odd edginess was making her jittery, too. Something had happened. But what? Togo hadn’t reported discovering anything, but his sources weren’t that close to Drakon. “It’s good to have you back, General Drakon.”

He nodded heavily, then got up to go.

She would have to check with her best source. And not by message. Something about this required a face-to-face meeting despite all the risks that involved.

Back inside her own offices, the door sealed and alarms activated, Iceni sat down. Why was Drakon acting guilty? The most likely explanation, and the most frightening one, was that he had decided to move against her but felt unhappy about that for some reason.

She sat down, swiveling in her chair to face part of the virtual window wall located behind her desk. It currently displayed the city at night, as seen from some location high up, as if her offices rested in some high-rise with a perfect view instead of being safely located belowground. The lights of the city swept down the slope to the waterfront, where restless waves foamed with phosphorescence against natural rock and human-built walls. Her hand rested on one building glowing against the darkness, flattened so that the patterns on her palm and fingers could be scanned, and a patch of the virtual window vanished, to be replaced by a square of nothingness. After working through a half-dozen more access methods and verifications, a small armored door popped open.

Iceni pulled out the document within, an actual printout of a written work. Thumbing it open to a random page, she began finding the letters she needed to spell out a message. Forming messages using a book code was a tedious process, but still the only absolutely unbreakable code known to humanity. Her contact would only respond to a request for a personal meeting using that code.

Finally, she drew a mobile designed to be untraceable out of the same safe, punching in a number, then waiting until an anonymous voice-mail box announced its readiness. “One One Five,” Iceni recited the page number, then, “six, ten, seventeen…” She went through every number matching the order of each word on the page, then hung up and tossed the mobile back into the safe.

Iceni paused as she was about to return the document to the safe. Countless things had been written by humanity in thousands of years, the vast majority kept preserved in virtual form, buried among a universe of preserved human thought, but bound printouts had never lost their grip on readers. That helped keep the use of a book code unbreakable no matter how fast systems could scan material in an attempt to break the code, since no two printouts had to use the same margins and page counts. All you needed were two that did match such things but didn’t match any other printout of the same work.

Now she stared at the document, which she had chosen because of its great age, wondering what its creator would say if he knew his work was still being read by someone this long after it had been written on ancient Earth itself, in Sol Star System, home of humanity, the place the citizens still revered as the home of their ancestors. “Incredible Victory,” she said softly, one finger tracing the words of the title. The name “Midway” on the book had caught her attention when she was seeking a document to use for this purpose, a reference to some other embattled place long ago with the same name as this star system. She didn’t think of herself as a superstitious woman, but perhaps the title would prove to be a good omen.

Any CEO with brains had at least one bolt-hole, a means to get out of their offices or living quarters without being spotted, an escape route known to no one but the CEO. Even Togo didn’t know about the one that Iceni had used this time, because even Togo could not be totally trusted.

No one could be totally trusted. You learned that, or you didn’t survive as a CEO.

Muffled in a coat against the evening breeze, her face half-buried in the raised collar, she walked through streets sparsely populated at that hour. Iceni felt naked without her bodyguards even though her clothing carried an impressive array of defenses. Any citizen who made the mistake of trying to rob or assault her would quickly learn just how big an error it was.

Surveillance cameras, both openly placed and concealed, gazed in her direction as she passed, but they did not see her. Embedded codes created by the ISS to ensure that they remained invisible to the police and other routine observation by creating blind spots in digital sensors were very useful for anyone wanting to move without being seen by the automated eyes of the police and other security forces.

Finally, she reached her objective, an inside corner in a mass-transit station, somewhere out of the crowd enough to avoid random contact or being overheard but close enough to others not to stand out as avoiding company, background noise providing a constant rumbling to help mask conversation. She leaned against one wall, watching passing people for the one she was to meet. Few gave her or the nondescript coat she wore a second glance. High-ranking CEOs and presidents didn’t dress that way, and no CEO or president would be out in public without bodyguards or staffers.

A man wearing another unremarkable civilian coat sauntered into view, altering his course slightly to bring him close to her, where he leaned on the wall beside Iceni. Raising one cupped hand, he showed a small unit glittering with green lights.

Gwen nodded and raised her own hand, showing her own surveillance-detection and blocking readout, also displaying steady green. That was their insurance that every security system monitoring this spot had been temporarily diverted, spoofed, or blinded. The crowds walking by could see them, but no one monitoring their location remotely could hear or see them at all. As far as the surveillance systems were concerned, they weren’t there. State-of-the-art equipment like theirs didn’t come cheap, and finding out all the necessary codes to mislead the equipment wasn’t easy, but those were some of the benefits of being a president. “Any problems?” she murmured.

“No,” her source replied. He didn’t seem nervous at all, appearing bored to the casual observer. “What is the difficulty? You know how risky this is.”

“I need answers now, and I need to know that they are accurate answers,” Iceni said. “What is Drakon doing?”

Her source paused, but more as if thinking than hesitating. “Nothing out of the ordinary. There’s a lot of work to be done overseeing the return of our brigades to the surface and catching up on things here now that he’s back.”

“Is he moving against me?”

Another pause, this time apparently in surprise. “No.”

“If you betray me now, either before I die or soon after I die, Drakon will learn who has been giving me information about him.”

“I have no doubt of that.” Her source shook his head. “He is not acting against you. That’s not to say there is no threat. But it’s not from him.”

“Why is he acting odd?” Iceni demanded.

This was a longer pause. “He slept with Colonel Morgan.”

“Oh.”

She wondered what her tone had conveyed as her source gave her a sharp look. “General Drakon got drunk. She took advantage of that. He slept with her one time and only one time. That is what he feels guilty about.”

“You’re joking.” She would have to be blind not to see how desirable Colonel Morgan would be to a man, and Iceni had lived long enough not to expect perfection from any man, especially when it came to his behavior with women. But she could still be disappointed when a man lived down to her expectations. “One time?”

“Yes. He will not repeat it.”

She had picked up something in his own voice. “What disturbs you about that?”

“You know that I don’t trust her. I am afraid she had some other goal when she seduced General Drakon and will try to use that night to her advantage.”

“If he’s going to take some crazy whore to his bed, he should expect problems,” Iceni said, hearing her own voice get sharp and angry. It sounded like she was taking the incident personally, which was ridiculous.

“She’s not crazy, at least not the way that you’re thinking. Morgan acts in ways that cause others to underestimate her. For many of those others, underestimating her was the last mistake they ever made. She is very good at planning for both the long and the short term. She has some plan now. Do not take her too lightly.”

Iceni made an irate sound. “Then perhaps we would be better off without her to worry about. No matter how dangerous she is, she can be eliminated. No one is invincible.”

“I strongly advise against such a plan and such an action. I will not cooperate in it.”

She felt frustrated now, as well as angry. “You hate her as much as anyone. You’ve tried to kill her already, and you’re advising me not to?”

Colonel Bran Malin grimaced. “I did not try to kill her.”

“Why not?”

Another pause. “Three reasons,” Malin said. “First, she’s very tough and very smart. Any attempt would have a rough time succeeding, and the repercussions from a failure would be extremely serious. Second, General Drakon values her advice and abilities. If he found out that anyone had planned a hit on Morgan, he would be very unhappy. If he discovered I had a role in it, my access to him would be forever eliminated. He would not forgive anyone, not even me, for an attack on someone he considers a faithful subordinate. I very nearly lost my access because of the… misunderstanding during the attack on the orbital facility here. Drakon would never have believed me or forgiven me if, during that incident, I had not killed someone who definitely did intend on killing Morgan. If he suspected you in an assassination attempt, it might motivate him to strike at you in the belief that a hit on Morgan was just a prelude to a direct attack on him.”

The arguments made too much sense to be ignored, though she doubted his explanation for the “misunderstanding” in which he had fired at Morgan. There was something else there, but she couldn’t tell what it was. “What is the third reason?” Iceni demanded.

Malin’s expression revealed nothing as he shook his head. “That is a private matter.”

“I want to know it.”

“I regret to disappoint you.”

She set her jaw, wondering how far to push it, whether to threaten exposure. She still didn’t know why Malin was feeding her information, but he had never told her anything that had proven to be less than accurate, and that kind of source that close to Drakon was invaluable. Malin surely knew as well as she did that she wouldn’t want to lose that source unless his usefulness had ended, and therefore a threat to expose him would be a bluff. “You have no idea what Morgan’s plan is?”

“All I know is what I know about her. She’s ambitious. She has no moral qualms. She rarely fails in what she attempts.”

Iceni breathed a soft laugh. “Why wasn’t she a CEO?” That led to another thought, a worrisome one. “Do you think that she means to supplant me?”

“It’s possible. It may be that Drakon is her planned tool in that.”

“Which one of us is in more danger from her then? You or me? Or Drakon himself?”

“I believe that Drakon is safe from her but cannot be certain. Between you and me, I don’t know,” Malin said. “If I am killed, look beneath the surface of whatever happens. I haven’t been able to learn who tried to kill Rogero. Maybe she was involved in that, too. Rogero and Gaiene are very close to Drakon, Kai only a little less so. If my guesses are right, in the long run, Morgan is going to want to isolate Drakon from any influences but her, anyone who might lead him in directions other than whatever she wants.” Malin looked directly at Iceni. “That includes you. I’m not sure of General Drakon’s feelings, but, at the least, he respects you.”

“But he doesn’t trust me,” Iceni said.

“No. He trusts me, and Morgan, and Rogero, Gaiene, and Kai.”

“He trusts you, and you tell me his secrets,” Iceni pressed.

Malin paused again. “I am loyal to General Drakon.”

Are you? What is your long-term plan, Colonel Malin? Not that you would tell me. How much of what you’ve just said is truth as you know it, and how much is spin aimed at convincing me to do what you want? “Loyal to General Drakon? You have yet to prove that to me.”

“It is probably impossible for me to prove my loyalty to him to your satisfaction.”

“It would be easy,” Iceni said. “Kill her.”

“Morgan? No.”

“Are you at least watching her?” Iceni demanded.

Malin’s lips twitched in a twisted smile. “I do little but watch her. And I never turn my back on her.”

“Then if you won’t do what seems to be needed in regards to Morgan, at least keep a close eye on General Drakon as well and see if you can prevent him from doing anything else stupid.”

“I am watching him. I admit that I let my guard down at Taroa. But she won’t get to him again like that, and if she tries, I have no doubt that General Drakon will reject her this time.”

“You may have no doubts, but I have mine,” Iceni said. Men. If only they could be counted upon to use their brains to make their decisions for them.

Granted that their male fallibilities made it much easier for women to use them as tools.

Women like Morgan.

Women like her. You won’t have Drakon, Colonel Morgan. I may not decide to want him, but you won’t have him. “And I will watch you, Colonel Malin,” Iceni said.

Another very brief smile. “I never doubt that I am being watched.”

“Keep me informed,” Iceni finished, turning to walk off, knowing that behind her Malin would also blend into the crowd of citizens, there and yet invisible to the surveillance systems monitoring everything said and done in the city.

Almost everything, that is.

Iceni listened as she walked. There were important things that could be learned when you moved among the citizens, indistinguishable from one of them. They said things that you would never hear otherwise, things murmured too low to be distinguished from background noise by the omnipresent surveillance systems.

A lot of talk about Taroa, and most of that happy. The snakes were gone from there. We had helped our neighbors and asked for nothing in return. That Drakon was a great general. There’s a new trade agreement. Ships will be coming through more often again. Good news. Good news.

Did you hear about President Iceni? What Buthol is saying? I don’t believe it. But she was our CEO before she was our president. Everyone knows about CEOs. Isn’t she different? Then why no election for president yet?

Iceni kept her head down until she reached the outer entrance to the bolt-hole, passing through a dozen locks and safeguards of various kinds before feeling safe enough to remove her coat with a heavy sigh. Who was this Buthol? Why were the citizens so full of praise for Drakon but asking questions about her? Was that Drakon’s work, sowing propaganda on his own behalf among the citizens?

It was late. She was tired and needed to think, to have time to absorb what Malin had said, to let her subconscious mull over how Malin had looked and acted.

President Iceni went to bed.

The next morning, feeling oddly as if she were hungover without having been drunk the night before, thus getting punishment without benefit of having done anything to deserve it, Iceni drank a breakfast malt to wash down some pain pills.

She sat at her desk, wondering where to begin. The battleship. The latest report from Kommodor Marphissa had come in forty-eight hours ago. There was a constant status feed as well, of course, but…

Iceni caught herself on the verge of sending a hotly worded message to Marphissa. The Kommodor had done nothing to earn a tongue-lashing.

But that man she had heard about last night, on the other hand. Buthol?

A quick query on her news terminal popped up a list of articles as well as opinion pieces written by Buthol himself.

Buthol wanted elections now. Buthol suspected the President of diverting funds and demanded a full accounting of tax revenues. Buthol argued that only a full, perfect democracy of one person, one vote, in which every important matter was decided by the people rather than representatives, would be in the best interests of everyone.

The news reports all agreed that Buthol had few followers yet but was attracting more and more attention with his speeches and essays.

Iceni read it all with growing anger. Who the hell does he think he is? Accusing me of corruption? Of wanting to be a dictator just because I won’t hand the mob control of this star system the instant someone like him demands it?

“Togo! In here now!”

He arrived with a speed that suggested her tone of voice had been unusually demanding. “Yes, Madam President.”

“Why the hell haven’t you told me about this Kater Buthol?”

Togo blinked, then checked his reader. “Ah. Yes. He has few followers. He is being watched.”

“He is getting a great deal of attention. He is personally attacking me.”

“Madam President, you instructed us to let the low-level elections proceed without interference—”

“Unless something said or done constituted a threat!” She glared at Togo. “Hasn’t this Kater Buthol broken any laws?”

Togo shook his head. “He has been very careful to tread just on the legal side of everything. You could order him arrested, but the charges would have to be based on fabricated evidence. I could have that evidence ready by this evening.”

“That won’t help! The last thing I need is to give this clown more attention by making him into some kind of martyr.” She sat back and made a disgusted gesture. “This Buthol is exactly the sort of problem I don’t need on my plate at the moment! Find a solution! That’s all.”

“Yes, Madam President.” Togo left with more swiftness than usual.

She spent the rest of the day burying herself in work and trying to catch up on the low-level elections, which were supposed to alleviate pressure among the citizens for change. It wasn’t at all clear that the elections were accomplishing that goal.

Most disturbing were the occasional suggestions that General Drakon would make a good president. That for the good of the star system, and with the looming threat of a Syndicate attack, a new leader might be needed who could deal with such dangers. Had Drakon arranged those whispers? That was worrisome. But not as worrisome as the possibility that the citizens were coming to feel that way on their own. Obviously, there was a need to raise her profile with the people. They needed to know who had won the battles here and at Kane, who had acquired the battleship, who had forgotten far more about mobile forces tactics than General Drakon had ever learned.

By the time Iceni went to sleep, she had worked up the outline for such a public-relations campaign.

The next morning, she made the error of ordering a larger breakfast, only to almost choke on a bite of food as she scanned news reports tagged for her based on recent search activity.

Police report that last night political agitator and candidate for neighborhood representative Kater Buthol was the victim of a robbery in which he apparently fought with his assailant and was shot in the resulting struggle. Buthol died before police arrived on the scene.

Iceni stared at the news item, wondering why it felt not just surprising, but shocking. I can’t fault the timing. Now I won’t have to lose any more sleep over that oaf, and Togo can—

Togo.

What did I tell Togo yesterday? What did I say?

Something about finding a solution for Buthol?

Which Togo could have thought meant I wanted him to get rid of Buthol.

For once in my life, I didn’t want to do that. For once, I wanted to handle it right.

And I might have ordered his death anyway.

She sat looking at her display. Calling in Togo again would serve no purpose. He knew the drill. This wasn’t a routinely accepted thing like sending someone to a public firing squad for failing in their duty. Given the right excuse, anyone sufficiently low-ranking could be disposed of that way without any fuss. But not everyone who needed to be eliminated had committed an offense, and sometimes people who needed to be neutralized had powerful patrons. There were long-established ways of handling that to avoid any personal penalty for the action. If she asked Togo whether he had killed Buthol, or arranged for someone else to do it, he would deny it because that was what he would always do to give her deniability in the matter. She had not said, “Kill him.” Togo would not admit that he had killed him. How many times had they played that game to ensure that any trips to interrogation rooms operated by the ISS would prove fruitless for questioners?

Did you order him to be killed?

I did not tell anyone to kill him.

The subject registers truthful.

Why did it bother her that Buthol was possibly dead at her hand? That damned Marphissa and her speeches about protecting the people.

But it was also about protecting herself, and her people. I had meant to do something about that, to get assassination as a means of personnel management off the list of acceptable actions.

Maybe Drakon did it. Buthol said some bad things about him, too.

She hesitated, then called Drakon.

“Is something wrong?” he asked as soon as he saw her.

That was bad. She was so rattled that she was letting it show. “I was wondering, General, if there were any personnel let go in your office recently?” That code phrase was an old one, a subtle means of asking about assassinations.

Drakon took a while to answer. “No. Not recently,” he finally said.

Either he hadn’t ordered it, or he wouldn’t admit to it. She needed to talk to someone who would understand what had happened. But how could she admit to Drakon that she had possibly ordered a hit? Yes, CEOs ordering assassinations happened all the time, but it was still technically illegal even if a CEO ordered it. An admission of possible involvement would be evidence against her, handed to someone who could use that evidence to help gain total power in this star system for himself.

Had Malin told the truth about Drakon’s intentions? Dared she believe that?

If only that big, stupid ape hadn’t slept with Morgan. I could feel us getting closer, developing some sense of being able to trust each other a little—

A new thought arose, hitting her so abruptly that Iceni hoped her feelings didn’t once more reveal themselves to Drakon. Was that Morgan’s idea? Did she sense that I was feeling more comfortable with Drakon and used having sex with him as a means to shove a wedge between us? She must have known that word of that event would get to me somehow.

Is this part of Morgan’s game? For me to mistrust Drakon, to stop working things out with him because he couldn’t keep his pants on with her? But how could she be sure that I would hear something that I wouldn’t dismiss as rumor…

Malin told me.

Was Malin a dupe in this, someone who could be fooled into being her messenger? Or is Malin actually working with her? Was that incident on the orbiting platform merely theater, a preplanned event that would make it appear that seriously bad blood existed between Malin and Morgan so that no one would suspect them of working together?

But how did Togo miss signs of that kind of collaboration? He never told me—

You can’t trust anyone.

Anyone.

Iceni looked at Drakon, who was watching her and waiting for a response. Part of her, the instinctive part, told her to hold that man as far from her as possible and work at limiting his power and eventually neutralizing him completely. Drakon was the only one in the star system with the power to threaten her directly.

But what if that was the wrong answer? What if her only real chance was to invest a measure of the little trust she could spare in a man who was either a lunkhead dumb enough to sleep with an insane bitch or cynical enough not to care that he was breaking one of the few rules he himself had set and was risking his own position for a short period of pleasure.

Or he was being manipulated, despite his power, by those beneath him.

“Many CEOs make the mistake of worrying only about those above them,” a mentor had once confided to Iceni, “when they should be worrying about what those below them are up to. It doesn’t take a lot of strength to make someone stumble. All it takes is knowing when to drop a tiny obstacle in front of their foot. And who knows how to do that better than the people you might barely notice as they do your dirty work?”

“General Drakon.” I am going to regret this. I know I am. Just do it. It’s the last thing anyone will expect. “I would like to meet with you personally. As soon as possible. Neutral ground, no aides or assistants.”

He studied her, then nodded. “All right. The usual place? I can be there in half an hour.”

“I’ll see you there.”

After the conference room door sealed, Drakon sat down, watching her and waiting.

“I’m going to do something stupid,” Iceni said.

“Really? That sort of thing seems to be going around,” Drakon said in a half-mocking, half-bitter way. “I hope it’s not as stupid as what I did.”

“I’m going to tell you that I may have just killed a man with a carelessly worded statement.” Iceni explained what had happened, then waited for his reaction.

“Why did you tell me that?” Drakon asked. “You know what I could do with that information.”

“I am… trusting… that you will not.”

He smiled for the first time that she could recall since his return from Taroa. “You’re right. That’s stupid. Fortunately for you, I’m even stupider. I don’t want anyone rummaging through the skeletons in my closet, so I’m not going to send anyone to go looking in yours. That’s the kind of precedent that can bite back hard. As for what happened, or might have happened, to Buthol…” Drakon shrugged. “Don’t lose any sleep over it. If you made a mistake, then you know what not to say next time.”

Could he possibly understand? “Under what possible interpretation is a mistake that kills someone acceptable?”

Drakon looked away from her. “President Iceni—”

“Call me Gwen, dammit.”

He seemed briefly taken aback. “All right. Gwen, do you have any idea how many battles I’ve been in and how many little mistakes I’ve made? And how many soldiers died because of those mistakes?”

“That is different. You were trying to do your job, you were learning—”

“It doesn’t feel that way. Not if you’re worth a damn.” This time Drakon appeared surprised at having gruffly admitted feeling like that.

“Then you do understand. Forget what we’ve been taught. Forget all the lessons we learned on our way to the top of the Syndicate hierarchy. Is this what we want? The ability for someone in power to kill on a whim, or by mistake?”

She had expected some argument, expected defensive anger, but Drakon instead sat silent for a long while before replying.

“Neither of us is perfect,” he finally said. “Both of us are human enough to make more mistakes than we should.”

“Then should there be limits on our ability to make those kinds of mistakes?”

Drakon stared at her this time. “Is this tied in with what you were saying about changing the courts?”

“Partly.”

“What is it, exactly, that you are asking me?”

Iceni took a deep breath. “Will you agree to order no more executions or assassinations? Not unless we both decide that is necessary in each individual case?”

Another pause. “Did you discover who tried to kill Rogero?”

“No. But I’m wondering if someone else, someone who thinks that sort of tactic is run-of-the-mill business, someone who might work for you or for me, might have made that decision on their own.”

“Because that’s how things are done.” Drakon made it a statement, not a question.

“And who knows who their next target might be?” Iceni added. “I want to know, if someone goes after me, that you did not order it. We’ve got the start of something here. We’ve kept this star system stable, we have the potential for alliances with two other star systems, and we can keep growing if we aren’t destroyed. External threats are one thing. We have little control over that. But internal threats can destroy us, too. You and I have to place real trust in each other, and mutually agreeing to cease extralegal killings can be an important part of establishing such trust.”

“Why should you believe me if I say I won’t order killings?” Drakon demanded.

“Because I think you’re worth a damn, General Drakon.”

Why the hell did I say that?

But after a moment he smiled. “I’ll make you a deal, then. I will agree not to order any more executions or assassinations without your specific approval, and I’ll reemphasize to my people that they are not to conduct such operations on their own. In exchange…”

“Yes?”

“Call me Artur instead of General Drakon. When we’re alone, at least.”

“I don’t know. That’s a big concession,” Iceni said. “Who else calls you Artur?”

“No one. Not for a long time.”

“Then I will agree.” But if you sleep with that female again, you’re going to be “General Drakon” full-time.

Before she could say anything else, her comm unit pulsed urgently. She could hear Drakon’s doing the same. “What is it?” Iceni snapped. “This had better be an emergency.”

“It is,” Togo said. “Update your system display.”

Drakon, having listened to his own message, was already entering the command.

The image of the Midway Star System that hung above the table flickered for a moment.

“Hell,” Drakon said.

At the hypernet gate, new ships had arrived. Iceni read the identifications glowing next to them. “A Syndicate flotilla.”

“And they’ve got a battleship,” Drakon said.

“So do we,” Iceni replied.

“Their battleship probably works.”

Iceni couldn’t think of an answer to that. “Six heavy cruisers, too. How many light cruisers? Four. And ten HuKs.” Even without the Syndicate battleship, that would present a tough problem for Iceni’s warships since she lacked an operational battleship of her own. “They want this star system back badly.”

“We’re receiving a message from the flotilla,” Drakon said, tapping another control.

A window opened before them, showing a familiar person in Syndicate CEO garb. “This is CEO Boyens,” he announced. “To former CEOs Iceni and Drakon. I have been sent here to return this star system to Syndicate Worlds’ control.

“You’re both guilty of treason. If you want to make a deal, you’d better make me a very good offer and make it soon.” Boyens offered them a standard CEO smile with a visible trace of smugness, then the brief message ended.

After a long moment of silence, Drakon glanced at Iceni. “Any suggestions?”

She shook her head. “Appealing to the better nature of CEO Boyens is unlikely to accomplish anything. He’s far from the worst Syndicate official I ever dealt with, but he’s very ambitious. What do we have to offer him?”

“As a bribe?” Drakon asked. “The most valuable things in this star system are you and me. If you want, we can flip a coin to see which of us offers up the other.”

“He doesn’t need to settle for one of us,” Iceni said. “Not with a force of that size. What we need—” She broke off as a new alarm sounded, this with a different note, a special note engraved in her memory. “No.”

Drakon was eyeing the display, his expression even grimmer than before. “Yes. The enigmas are back.”

The Syndicate force had arrived hours ago at the hypernet gate. The enigma force, coming in at the jump point from Pele, had also been in-system for a few hours, the light from its arrival only just reaching this planet. Boyens would be seeing them at about the same time, and realizing that his plans for reconquering the star system would have to change.

Iceni watched the symbols marking alien warships multiplying rapidly. “It’s a strong assault force,” she said, surprised that her voice sounded so steady. “They’re not here to just hit-and-run.”

“That’s enough enigma warships to wipe out the human presence in this star system,” Drakon agreed. “At least we can see them now that we’ve eliminated the alien worms in our sensor systems, but where the hell is Black Jack? What did he do? Stir them up and move on, leaving us to catch it when the enigmas retaliated for having their space invaded?”

A sensation of cold emptiness filled Iceni as she gazed at the display. “Or perhaps the enigmas proved to be more than even Black Jack could deal with. If the enigmas wiped out Black Jack’s fleet, what chance do we have?”

Drakon surprised her by smiling, then she realized the expression was more the snarl of a wolf at bay than anything to do with humor. “Let’s call Boyens and tell him he’d better ally himself with us if he wants to be a hero.”

“And if he doesn’t want to be a hero? If he’d rather run and live?”

“We die at the hands of the enigmas. If they’ve got hands.” Drakon paused, then shrugged. “Of course, with the odds we’re facing, we’ll all die regardless of whatever Boyens does. But he might help us buy a little more time.”

“For what?” Iceni asked. “Do you expect help? From where?”

“I don’t know,” Drakon admitted. “Maybe your knight in shining armor will show up.”

“I don’t have any knights, General Drakon. A wise woman doesn’t depend on someone’s showing up to rescue her.”

“What does she depend on?” Drakon asked, his eyes back on the display as if he were already thinking through their limited options.

Iceni also looked at the depictions of the attacking enigmas, the strong Syndicate flotilla, and their own badly outmatched defensive forces. “She depends on her judgment of whom she can trust, General Drakon.”

Drakon gave out a short, sardonic laugh. “Then why are you here with me?”

“Why haven’t you already pulled a weapon on me?”

He grinned with real humor this time though a dark defiance of fate stayed in his eyes. “Because I never made a very good CEO. Go ahead and call Boyens while I get the ground forces fully activated.”

Perhaps I do have one knight, Iceni thought. A knight of darkness and shadow. But maybe it’s just his armor that is tarnished. Maybe inside that armor is someone who is still capable of doing something that doesn’t bring personal gain, who, as he told me, really does want something worth dying for. Or is he blemished inside as well and just recognizes that our very slim chances will become none at all if we turn on each other now?

She said nothing more to Drakon before she called the Syndicate flotilla with an offer she hoped it would not refuse.