The Lost Stars: Perilous Shield tls-2

by Jack Campbell

  Iceni could feel the difference this time, and not simply because the event planners had been extraordinarily upset at not knowing who the winners would be well in advance while planning the ceremony. They seemed to take it as a personal insult that their planning would be dependent on who actually got the most votes. She had finally sacked half of the planning supervisors to shut them up, discovering afterward that the efficiency of the process appeared to have improved dramatically.

  There hadn’t been any need to order in crowds for the occasion this time, either. They were here, they were there in all cities, in numbers and with enthusiasm that was very sobering.

  “We’ve unleashed a monster,” Drakon observed. They were standing side by side on the stage from which the victors would be certified, their images being broadcast throughout the star system.

  “A very large and demanding monster,” Iceni said. “But it was always there. The Syndicate just kept it suppressed. Unless we were willing to act as the Syndicate does, as the snakes do, we had to deal with that energy somehow. I am concerned about keeping it under control, though.”

  “That may be very difficult,” Drakon agreed. “I’ve done some more exploration of my soldiers’ attitudes, and it confirms the suspicions I passed on to you earlier. If I gave them orders to fire on citizens, discipline might crack.”

  Iceni nodded, smiling toward the crowds as if she and Drakon were engaging in small talk. Their lip movements were blurred by security fields, of course, ensuring that no one could read words off them and know what was really being said. “If your ground forces are no longer reliable, the local ground forces can’t be counted on for internal security missions at all.”

  “I thought that you would be more upset by the news.”

  Her smile held an edge of self-mockery. “I can be as hypocritical as anyone, but not on this issue. I’ve known since we took over that the workers and officers on our warships would refuse to participate in bombardments of citizens. They wouldn’t even cooperate in a threat to do so. Your soldiers were always our only means of enforcing control of the citizens.”

  Drakon smiled, too. “We’re riding a tiger.”

  “Exactly. Try not to get thrown.”

  “You won’t throw me.” He made it a statement, not a question. “But the tiger might.”

  “It will if we don’t keep it fed by measures like these elections. And they were clean elections,” Iceni said. “Mostly. Isn’t that a strange thing? We kept our words to the citizens.”

  “Mostly,” Drakon agreed. “They’re going to want more, though.”

  “We’ll feed them slowly,” Iceni said. “It will be difficult, but I like that. I’m tired of easy solutions.”

  “Like ordering executions of anyone who gives us trouble?”

  “Like that. I’m not a Syndicate CEO anymore.” I can almost believe that when I say it. Almost believe that I never did anything on my climb to the top that can’t be forgotten now. But I left victims behind me. We all did.

  The official results were released to the media, appearing everywhere simultaneously. Cheers erupted. Iceni and Drakon waved, generating more cheers, then, after a few minutes, left the stage. “Even the ones who lost were applauding,” Iceni commented.

  “If they believe the game isn’t rigged, they also believe that next time they might win,” Drakon pointed out.

  “Buy-in. Yes. We need that. It’s something the Syndicate never appreciated the need for among citizens even though they obsessed about it among top-rank CEOs.” They walked to the two impressive vehicles awaiting them. “Would you ride with me?” Iceni asked.

  He gave her a surprised look, then nodded. After passing orders to his own vehicle to follow, Drakon joined her in the spacious back of the Class One VIP Limo. “I’ve seen a lot of tanks that had less armor than these Class One Limos,” he said, sitting down opposite Iceni.

  She smiled crookedly and rapped the virtual window next to her. It looked real, exactly as if a broad, clear view of the outside were visible through glass. In fact, it just overlay the same heavy armor as everywhere else on the vehicle. “Have you ever thought of these limos as metaphors for our lives?” Iceni asked. “Outwardly, you see one thing, something that appears transparent in many places. But, inside, things are very different than they appear.”

  “Your staff and my staff didn’t appear to be thrilled at us riding alone together,” Drakon replied. “I’m pretty sure that reflected their inner feelings.”

  She laughed. “They want to protect us. At least, I hope that’s their motivation. In an odd way, they control us.”

  “Yeah,” Drakon agreed, leaning back against a cushion that molded itself to his back so swiftly and smoothly that it was scarcely noticeable. “They set our schedules, they can filter the information we see, they can make decisions in our names that we might not ever hear about. It worries me when I let myself think about it.”

  Iceni nodded, then looked sidelong at him. “I wanted to thank you again for not even hesitating on handing Pele over to me. There’s a fair amount of damage to be fixed, but she’ll be operational before Midway is. That will go a long way toward making us secure.” She blew out an exasperated breath, then leaned toward him. “Damn you, Artur Drakon, tell me the truth. Why aren’t you worried about my controlling that amount of firepower relative to yours? Why aren’t you worried about me throwing you off the tiger?”

  He searched her eyes for a moment, then leaned forward as well, so they were as close as the size of the limo allowed. “Because I know that if you wanted to kill me, Gwen, you would have succeeded in that already.”

  “How sweet,” she said with a laugh. “Maybe I’m just planning on making you into a nice, controllable subordinate.”

  “Hah! You know that I’ll never be anyone’s lapdog.”

  “Then why do you . . . ?” She searched for the right word.

  “Why do I trust you?” He laughed this time. “I said it. I trust you, Gwen. You’d stick a knife in me if I betrayed you, and you’d make sure it hit a vital spot. But if I play straight with you, I don’t think you’ll betray me.” Drakon shrugged. “So I guess I’m stupid.”

  “No.” Don’t say it. Don’t say it. “You’re a good judge of character. And I am lucky to have you as a . . . as a . . . partner.” Why did you say it? Fool! You’ve given him leverage to use against you!

  Oh, shut up! I am so tired of the games and the schemes and the daggers in the night!

  Drakon looked back at her with genuine surprise. “Thank you. That probably sounds like a dumb thing to say, but I don’t know what someone in my position is supposed to say when someone in your position says something like that.”

  “Thank you is acceptable.” Gwen smiled, the expression vanishing as she suddenly became aware of a strong and alarming urge to lean in farther and kiss Artur Drakon. She sat back quickly, putting distance between them.

  “Is something wrong?” Drakon asked.

  “No. Nothing. I’m fine.” Talk about something. Anything. “I’ve been trying to decide who should command Pele. I think I’ll transfer Kontos over to her and promote him to full Kapitan.”

  Drakon sat back as well, plainly disconcerted by her quick changes in attitude and topic. “Umm . . . that’s your call. Kontos is unquestionably loyal. He’s had a pretty meteoric rise, though. Can he handle being commanding officer of a battle cruiser?”

  “Now that they’re back, I posed the question to Kommodor Marphissa, and she discussed it with Captain Bradamont. They both think he can if there is sufficient experienced depth in the other officers on the battle cruiser.”

  “Who ends up with the battleship?”

  “I don’t know. I’m going through the survivors from the Reserve Flotilla, trying to narrow it down. Did you ever meet Sub-CEO Freo Mercia? She was second-in-command of a battleship in the Reserve Flotilla.”

  “Not that I recall. Do you know her?”

  “In passing,” Iceni said. “She impr
essed me during that brief encounter. If the reports we have from the other survivors of her ship are accurate, she assumed command after the commander of her battleship was incapacitated and did an excellent job of fighting the ship until it was hopeless, then getting as many of her surviving crew off as possible.”

  “Incapacitated?” Drakon asked.

  Iceni twisted her mouth. “Shot by the senior snake on board when he appeared to be wavering in his duties. Freo Mercia then shot the snake, ordered her crew to finish off the rest, and continued the battle with the Alliance until her battleship was too badly damaged to fight.”

  “She sounds like a very good choice,” Drakon agreed.

  “You deserve the chance to evaluate her, given the power we’re thinking about placing under her control. I’ll send her to you for a personal interview. We’ve been bringing the Reserve Flotilla survivors down to the surface since Kommodor Marphissa escorted the freighters into orbit. I understand that Colonel Rogero made it back to you safely?”

  “He and Captain Bradamont,” Drakon said. “What do you think about that riot on the freighter?”

  “It could be explained by resentment of an Alliance officer,” Iceni said slowly, “but . . .”

  “Yeah. But. Colonel Rogero recommended careful screening of everyone on those freighters, which you are already doing.”

  The vehicle slowed to a gentle stop. “Here we are,” Iceni said. “You can return to the safety of your staff, and I can reassure mine that I remain intact despite being alone with you.”

  “Gwen . . .”

  “Yes?”

  Drakon shook his head. “Nothing.”

  He left her wondering what he had almost said.

  “WHY did she invite us to this?” Morgan asked darkly.

  “To emphasize that General Drakon is co-ruler of this star system,” Malin replied in his most patronizing voice.

  “He’s not co-ruler of the mobile forces,” Morgan shot back. “Is this supposed to make us think he has any authority over them? A play act to make the General feel appreciated when it doesn’t actually mean a damned thing?”

  “That’s not what President Iceni intends.”

  “And just how do you know what President Iceni intends?” Morgan demanded, her eyes smoldering with suspicion.

  Malin gave her back the look of an innocent man trying to understand the charges against him. “I listen. I have sources, and I listen. If you did the same, you would know why President Iceni is rushing the acceptance of this group of former supervisors so they can be sent out to the battle cruiser to help get it fully operational as soon as possible.”

  “You listen?” Morgan smiled at Malin with such vast insincerity that Drakon almost laughed but caught himself in time. “I listen, too. I hear lots of things. Among them is that some of Iceni’s sources in the Syndicate sent a message on that last freighter that passed through this star system. A message saying that another attack by the Syndicate against us is being prepped right now. Do you want to know what I hear about you?”

  “If it was anything you had proof of, you would have brought it to the General already,” Malin replied coldly.

  “Behave yourselves in there,” Drakon told them both. “I don’t want the President to see my staff acting like a couple of quarreling kids.”

  “Yes, sir,” Morgan replied, her expression perfectly serious. “But he started it.” She broke into a sharp laugh.

  They entered the moderately sized auditorium selected for the ceremony. President Iceni, trailed by her bodyguard/assistant Togo, was just coming in from another door. In front of them all, three rows of former Syndicate supervisors who had once been executives and sub-CEOs of varying ranks stood at attention in their new uniforms as Leytenants and Kapitan-Leytenants.

  Colonel Rogero also awaited them, saluting at the sight of Drakon.

  Iceni came to a stop near Rogero. “It is only fitting that the man who played such a large role in the rescue of these personnel from an Alliance prison camp should be present as they join our forces,” she said.

  Drakon, who had been told by Rogero of his invitation, returned the salute and nodded to Iceni. “The Kommodor couldn’t be here?”

  “The Kommodor is with her flotilla,” Iceni said. “We have reports that another Syndicate attack could come at any time.”

  “Really?” Drakon looked back at Morgan and Malin to subtly acknowledge the accuracy of their information, catching Morgan looking flatly toward Rogero as if waiting for a single betraying gesture.

  As he looked back toward the rows of new officers, Drakon spotted one who seemed barely able to contain her happiness. He recognized her from the reports Rogero had provided. Former Executive Ito. She caught Rogero’s eye and smiled very quickly before returning her expression to a militarily correct rigidity.

  Iceni gave a speech. Drakon felt his attention wandering, his eyes scanning the new officers, wondering what had led them to choose the risks of fighting for Midway over returning to Syndicate-controlled space. They had all been screened to ensure they would be loyal to him and Iceni, but Drakon had long since learned never to take such things for granted.

  As Iceni finished, the new officers saluted her, and chorused “for the people!”

  The ranks broke, the officers talking excitedly among themselves. Iceni turned to speak to Togo.

  Newly appointed Kapitan-Leytenant Ito strode toward Rogero, openly smiling, then veered toward Drakon. She saluted him proudly. Drakon returned the gesture, aware that Malin had taken a couple of steps closer to him, as if prepared to make some remark.

  Ito took another step toward Drakon, still smiling, right hand raised slightly and held out. “General,” she began, “may I presume to ask—”

  Malin’s moves were so fast they blurred. One moment he was standing to the side of Ito and Drakon, the next he had his right hand locked on Ito’s right wrist. Malin’s left hand grasped his sidearm, the barrel of which was resting on Ito’s temple.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

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

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

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

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

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

  Iceni gestured to Togo. “Do it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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