“For Ulindi.” Morgan stretched like a panther, lithe and dangerous, as she stood up. “That’s where I’m going, right?”
“You sound happy to be going,” Drakon said, eyeing her. Despite being confined to her quarters, Morgan not only had means of keeping track of what was going on, but she was letting him know that. Was she simply flaunting her abilities, or sending a message about the futility of trying to outmaneuver her? Most likely both.
“Ulindi sounds like fun.” She smiled again. “If you’re going to fulfill your destiny, you need me to help lead the way. That’s my destiny. I was getting bored sitting around here anyway.”
“It’s a dangerous assignment,” Drakon said.
“Hell, I know that.”
“What about—” He found himself floundering, unable to think how to ask the question.
Morgan cocked a serious gaze his way. “She’ll be fine if anything that happens to me occurs in the line of duty. I do things right, General. The only thing that might cause problems is if that worm Malin tries to sabotage me.”
“Why do you spend so much time worrying about Malin?” Drakon asked, deliberately goading her even though he kept his voice dispassionate.
“I . . . don’t. He’s not important. But he is a threat, so I watch him.”
“I’m watching both of you,” Drakon said. He wondered again if Morgan did subconsciously realize that Malin was her son. She had disliked Malin intensely from the moment they first met, but Drakon hadn’t suspected the real reason until Malin had recently confessed it to him.
Morgan shook off the momentary uncertainty that the topic of Malin had generated. “You don’t need to worry about my doing my job, General. We need to take down Ulindi, and I’m just the girl for taking down a star system.” She checked her sidearm, which Drakon had let her keep, knowing that Morgan didn’t need a weapon to be deadly. “Tell me how you want me to break some stuff, General.”
KANE Star System had been through a lot in the past year. The CEOs representing the Syndicate Worlds had done their best to tamp down rising rebellion, which had meant thousands of victims rounded up and summarily executed or shoved into rapidly expanded labor camps, where many died after months of deprivation. The final collapse of Syndicate authority had been marked by mass demonstrations that had too often turned into mass riots, inflicting considerable destruction on the cities of Kane’s main inhabited world. The ship repair and construction facility which had once orbited a gas giant world had been destroyed by the retreating Syndicate forces. And, once the hated Syndicate overlords were gone, there had been too many others competing to rule Kane, none strong enough to prevail and none willing to compromise enough to ally with other factions. Debate and argument had led to open fighting, inflicting further misery on the people of Kane and further destruction on their cities.
Given all of that, it was understandable that more than a few inhabitants of Kane Star System saw the arrival of a Syndicate battleship, accompanied by a curiously small number of escort ships, with anticipation as well as concern. Kane had no warships and no surviving orbital weaponry, no means of defending itself from space attack, so not even a futile gesture of resistance was possible. There were quite a few people who hoped the Syndicate would come in, wipe out those who had been fighting to rule the star system, then leave again, allowing saner heads to finally prevail in Kane. There were plenty of people who would have welcomed a return to Syndicate control if it brought stability. That had always been one of the Syndicate’s biggest arguments for legitimacy, that it provided peace and security for those under its rule. The price for those benefits was a steep one, but after the last year of death and disorder, the trade-off seemed a lot more worthwhile to some. As a result, this was one of the few times many of the residents of a star system greeted the appearance of Syndicate warships with any semblance of hope.
Kane’s orbital sensors had also long since been destroyed in revolt and infighting, and many ground-based sensors had also been lost. The first warning people received of the actions of the Syndicate warships came when fiery streaks appeared in the sky, marking the paths of bombardment projectiles tearing through atmosphere on their way to their targets.
Few had time to seek any cover or shelter before the bombardment began hitting, the falling projectiles producing massive explosions that gutted cities and shattered any industries that had survived until now. In a matter of minutes, more than half of those still surviving at Kane died, their bodies buried in the ruins of their cities and large towns.
The dazed survivors gathered what weapons remained to them and waited for the Syndicate warships’ next move, for further attacks or demands for surrender. But, after watching the results of their attack, the Syndicate vessels departed without any other actions and without transmitting any messages. They had, after all, already sent a message about the price of rebellion and had also ensured that nothing remained in Kane worth conquering.
—
GWEN Iceni sat watching the transmission with her expression schooled into stony impassiveness. It was hard, very hard, to watch the devastation that had been inflicted at Kane without revealing the revulsion she felt at those who had ordered such an action. “Where did we get this?”
“A freighter arriving from a Syndicate-controlled star system,” Togo answered, his voice betraying no more emotion than Iceni’s face did. “They were told the same information was being sent to all star systems in this region.”
“At least we know what CEO Hua Boucher did after we chased her out of this star system.” Iceni closed her eyes as the video continued to play, revealing the results of the bombardment of Kane in carefully composed and edited scenes designed to emphasize the resulting death and destruction. The images formed an incongruous counterpoint to the quiet and comfort of Iceni’s private office. “Didn’t another freighter just arrive here after passing through Kane?”
“Yes, Madam President. Their observations confirm that the bombardment shown actually took place.”
“Can they tell us anything else?”
Togo nodded, the placid gesture at odds with the ugly subject of their conversation. “There was no demand for surrender before the bombardment. No communications at all before the bombardment began striking. Afterward, messages asking for help were directed to the freighter from those on the surface.”
“What could a freighter do to help?” Iceni muttered angrily.
“Nothing,” Togo answered. “But the freighter did promise to bring word of what had happened at Kane to us here.”
“Why bother?” Iceni said, frustrated. “What can we do? Poor, damned Kane didn’t have anything left that the Syndicate wanted, so they turned that star system into an object lesson of the costs of revolt. It would take twenty star systems, twenty wealthy star systems, to be able to muster the resources to help Kane! I want to know how this transmission is playing with the citizens here, Togo. After seeing it, are they worried, scared, defiant, angry, or what?” She knew they would see it, no matter what efforts were bent toward preventing anyone from viewing the images. Those who had lived under the Syndicate knew how to pass information to each other by means even the once all-powerful snakes of the Internal Security Service could never completely shut off.
“I will have that matter investigated, Madam President,” Togo said with another deferential nod.
“And I want word spread around through our agents among the citizens,” Iceni added. “What happened at Kane didn’t happen here. No rioting, no fighting among factions for power, no bombardment by the Syndicate. Make sure the citizens are thinking about the fact that having me in power has prevented all of those things from occurring at Midway.”
“Yes, Madam President. Our agents will remind the citizens that they owe their lives and their security to you.”
She gestured for him to leave, a sharp flip of one hand, and Togo slipped out the door silently. Iceni waited until the door had sealed, waited to run a status check on her security
systems and see the green status reports that claimed all was well, then called Drakon. “General, have you seen the images from Kane?”
The question had really been unnecessary. Drakon looked considerably grimmer than usual. “I’ve seen them.”
“Kane has asked us for help.”
Drakon grimaced, looking to the side. “Anything we can do is a drop in the bucket compared to what Kane needs.”
“I know. But . . . dammit, Artur, I wish we could have destroyed Happy Hua’s battleship and her with it.”
Drakon shrugged. “If wishes were warships,” he said, repeating the first half of the old saying. “Look, we can make a . . . symbolic gesture. That’s all it would be. It would save a few lives.”
Iceni gave him a keen glance. “I didn’t think we could even manage a symbolic gesture.”
“Sure. The Syndicate intended that Midway serve as a forward base if they deployed other forces here against the enigmas. We’ve got a fair amount of equipment stockpiled that would have been used by those forces.” Drakon was squinting as he read something off his own screen. “Yeah. We can break out of the warehouses two field hospitals and a deployable water purification/reclamation plant. One big freighter can carry all of that. I can send some of the local troops along to get the stuff set up and give a little assistance. Like I said, it’s a drop in the bucket, but it’s something.”
“We don’t need those hospitals and the water plant?” Iceni asked.
“We don’t need them now,” Drakon said. “Maybe someday we might, but we’ve already got a lot more junk in the buried warehouses here and on other planets in this star system than we can use.”
“What is it worth?” Iceni said, wincing inside at the need to consider cost.
“Worth? If we needed it, it would be priceless. But we don’t need it. Kane does, though.”
“Kane does,” Iceni agreed. “Artur, I am incredibly grateful for this. It may be a very small thing measured against Kane’s need, but Kane will remember this, that we helped them when they needed it.”
Drakon paused, studying her. “Is that what this is all about? Political maneuvering? Getting someone else to feel in our debt?”
“No! I—” Why am I objecting? Of course, I should be doing this to get Kane in our debt. That’s just a smart way of doing business. So what? “Is there some other reason?”
He shrugged again. “Just checking.”
“Listen, General, it doesn’t matter what our motivations are. Kane will be grateful.”
“And . . . ?”
“And what?”
Drakon gave her a serious look. “I was wondering if our motivations do matter. We started doing all this in order to survive. Is that still our reason for what we’re doing?”
Iceni leaned back, letting a small smile play on her lips, giving the outward image she had learned to project as a Syndicate CEO. “Isn’t that enough of a reason?”
“I don’t know,” Drakon replied, sounding thoughtful. “Survival can lead to a lot of short-term solutions that blow up in your face over the long run.”
“That’s not exactly breaking news,” Iceni said, wondering what Drakon was driving at.
“What do we want at Kane? There’s a lot of potential there, and the Syndicate just pretty much wiped out all the different people who were fighting to be in charge. It will be a decade before Kane can rebuild much, but if you and I are still around then, what do we want Kane to be? And what about Ulindi? If we take that star system, do we let them set up some government we can live with, or do we install a puppet, or do we make Ulindi part of our . . . what? Empire?”
She paused to think that through while Drakon waited with stolid patience. “Empire” sounded nice. But . . . “Could we even hold an empire? Defend it against external attacks and maintain internal order?”
“I don’t think so. We don’t have enough ground forces or warships for that job. Not even close.” Drakon waved one hand upward. “We’ve got enough firepower to do what the Syndicate just did at Kane, but I don’t mind admitting that I don’t have the stomach for that.”
“Nor do I. We’re trying to tie Taroa tightly to us. Why not do the same at Ulindi?”
Another shrug. “If we can, sure. What is it we’re building here, Gwen? Not another Syndicate, right? But what is it, then?”
“The Syndicate was never big on teaching about alternate forms of governance.” Iceni rested her chin on one hand, gazing into the distance. “We sure as hell can’t call it an Alliance. That name is poison here after the war. Partnership? Consortium?”
“Those sound pretty Syndicate,” Drakon said.
“They do, don’t they? But we’re talking about an agreement, shared among several parties. A treaty?”
“Maybe.”
“Or compact? A cooperative? There’s no rush coming up with a name, is there?”
“There might be.” Drakon frowned at her. “What we call it, what we propose to call it, will send a message to everyone else. Anyone we want to be part of it will be looking to see if the name implies anything Syndicate. Anyone outside it will be looking for signs it is a nickname for empire. When someone wants to know what Midway represents, what message do we send them? Survival and power for you and me? That probably won’t be too persuasive for other star systems. It might also create internal problems. Labeling ourselves rulers of something that sounds Syndicate would make our own citizens wonder if some of the rumors making the rounds are true.”
“If we present a name that sounds too weak,” Iceni objected, “it will make us look like an easy target. You’re right. We do have to think about this. It’s a marketing problem, isn’t it? We have to look strong but not threatening to those outside, and like a source of internal stability and protection but not Syndicate-level repression to those inside. We need to sell this to star systems that we want to join up, and present the right image to those we want to keep at arm’s length.”
“It’s not just marketing,” Drakon said, with an open disdain that made it clear what he thought of marketing as a profession. “Not just propaganda. It’s also about what form this grouping of stars takes, how much control we have or want.”
Iceni sighed, pressing one hand over her eyes. “We’re still working out how this star system will be governed. The details of that, anyway. Will what we decide to do here even work in other places, like Taroa, even if we can impose it on them?”
“We don’t necessarily have to impose it,” Drakon pointed out. “I talked to Captain Bradamont about how the Alliance worked. She said there’s a set of principles the member star systems agree to, that they can’t be like the Syndicate, for example, but beyond that individual star systems get to run themselves any way they want as long as it doesn’t conflict with the principles.”
“Hmmm.” Iceni lowered her hand and gazed at the nearest star display. “That’s not just Alliance propaganda, then? They do allow more . . . autonomy . . . for individual star systems?”
“That’s what Bradamont said. She admitted that under the pressure of the war, the Alliance central government gained a lot more power but insists that power is still limited.” He must have seen Iceni’s skepticism because Drakon added more. “And she is Alliance. You know how their officers are about that honor stuff and not lying.”
Iceni laughed. “I know how they go on about how honor is so important to them. I’m certain that some Alliance officers shade the truth a lot more than they admit to. But Bradamont does not seem to be one of those. She’s annoyingly honest in all matters. Well, if we’re not capable of enforcing some way of governing on other star systems, letting them do what they want as long as it doesn’t harm us or help the Syndicate might be a smart way to go. Most importantly, it is so different from Syndicate practice that it will defuse claims we’re trying to set ourselves up as a mini-Syndicate out here. Would you be upset if I expressed surprise that you thought of all this before I did?”
He smiled. “No. You’re a better CEO
than I was in the sense of running a business. I didn’t think of it. Colonel Malin suggested we needed to think about it.”
“Colonel Malin?” She kept her tone of voice neutral as a welter of thoughts responded to that identification. “Colonel Malin appears to have many ideas.”
“He says he’s been thinking about things like this for a while,” Drakon said. “He didn’t think there would ever be a chance to do anything as long as the Syndicate remained too strong and the Alliance remained at war with us, but things happened.”
“Things happened,” Iceni agreed. “The old order has crashed and burned, and now . . .” Her voice trailed off as a memory fought to become clear.
Drakon waited, eyeing her, smart enough not to interrupt and chase away the image that Iceni was trying to recall. He did have some very good qualities even though sometimes their arguments were heated enough to start fires.
Fires. There it was. “A phoenix.”
“A what?”
“A phoenix,” Iceni said. “You said we need an image. I thought of this a while ago, that the phoenix might be useful. That’s why I didn’t name one of our heavy cruisers Phoenix. Do you know what a phoenix is?”
“Something that doesn’t actually exist,” Drakon said. “Wait a minute. Isn’t there a creature called a phoenix on a planet in Gladias Star System?”
“Don’t know, don’t care,” Iceni replied. “I’m talking about the real thing, which isn’t real.” He grinned at the joke as she continued. “It is very long-lived, a fire bird. Like a star. But that’s not all. When the phoenix is hurt, it regenerates. It can’t be defeated, you see? And when it dies, it burns up, then rises again from its own ashes. It can’t be beaten, it can’t be destroyed, but it’s not a monster.”
Drakon sat back, nodding. “Damn. That’s one hell of a strong symbol.”
“One hell of a strong symbol for whatever we’re building,” Iceni said. “Right? Something that will endure, something that will recover from any injury, something as powerful as the stars our worlds orbit.”
The Lost Stars: Imperfect Sword Page 8
