Perilous Shield

by Jack Campbell

  “I do,” Drakon admitted. “I still have trouble with that myself. But it is in our best interests to treat you right, Captain Bradamont, and I intend making sure you are treated right.”

  Bradamont looked right at him. “No escorts for us on this shuttle?”

  “You’re a guest. Why would we need guards?” Drakon studied her as the shuttle undocked and began the transit and descent to the planet below. “Colonel Rogero has worked directly for me for some years. He’s one of the best officers I’ve ever had.”

  She met his eyes. “And?”

  “If you’re wondering why he wasn’t the one who met you, it’s because I wanted to size you up in person. You almost got him killed, you know.”

  “Yes. I know.”

  “But he was an equal partner in that,” Drakon continued. “All I care about is whether we can work with an Alliance officer. From what I’ve heard, you did all right on Manticore.”

  “I was mostly an observer, there for the legal niceties,” Bradamont said.

  “I recognize some of those ribbons you’re wearing, Captain. You didn’t earn them observing things.” He pointed to one, with red, green, and silver bands. “I know that one. It’s for Ajatar, right?”

  “Yes, sir. How did you know?”

  “One of those intelligence summaries,” Drakon explained. “I didn’t really need to know what all the Alliance ribbons and badges stood for, but that one caught my eye because I was at Ajatar. On the ground.”

  Her eyes met his again. “Ground forces? The second planet.”

  “Yeah. We got our butts kicked pretty bad.”

  She shook her head. “Our ground forces people were saying afterward that they couldn’t believe you held out until a Syndic flotilla arrived that was strong enough to drive us out of the star system.”

  Drakon shrugged, looking away as memories flooded into his mind. “It wasn’t easy. There weren’t a lot of us left by then. I was a . . . you’d call the rank major, I guess. I arrived on the planet with a battalion. When we finally got relieved I had about a platoon’s worth still alive.”

  “It was bad in space, too. I was just an ensign on a heavy cruiser. The Sallet. We got shot to pieces. About forty of us made it off in escape pods before the power core blew.”

  “Damn. Funny you were on one of the ships dropping rocks on my head. Small galaxy, isn’t it?” Drakon sighed, then shrugged again. “I’m glad it’s over.”

  “Is it?”

  “Nah. We’re all still fighting, aren’t we? The enemies have just changed. But I like to pretend.”

  “That can be a bad habit in senior officers,” Bradamont observed.

  The blunt observation could have upset him with its borderline insubordination, but instead Drakon found himself smiling wryly. “A very bad habit, especially when planning operations. I think I’m beginning to see what Colonel Rogero sees in you and why Black Jack picked you for this assignment.”

  “Will I be . . . General, this is a purely personal question. Will I be allowed to see Colonel Rogero?”

  “Allowed? You’ll be required to see him. He’s going to be your official handler though he’ll retain his primary job as one of my brigade commanders.”

  Bradamont swallowed, eyes wide. “Thank you, General.”

  “I did it for him,” Drakon said, feeling uncomfortable at her obvious gratitude. “You’ll have some guards assigned to you, but they’ll respect your privacy. Remember what President Iceni said. Anything you say in public or on a comm line will probably be overheard.”

  “I thought the snakes were gone,” Bradamont said.

  “Most of them. We’re certain there is at least one snake operative hidden among the citizens or the military. But snakes aren’t the only ones who tap into conversations. You know how that is.”

  Her gaze back at him was perplexed. Clearly, this Alliance officer didn’t know how it was. “General, are you talking about official or unofficial snoops?”

  “Both. Internal politics and competition for promotions can get really hardball.” She had to understand that aspect of things.

  “Hardball,” Bradamont repeated. “You mean politicking?”

  “No, I mean blackmail, spying, and assassinations.”

  She stared back at him. “I’m waiting for you to say just kidding.”

  “That doesn’t happen in the Alliance?” Drakon asked.

  “No. I mean, in rare cases. But it is rare.” Bradamont looked down, her expression concerned. “Some of the things Colonel Rogero said to me. I assumed I’d misinterpreted them.”

  “You didn’t.” Drakon gave her his sternest look. “You need to know how things work here. How things have worked because I always hated that junk and will do my best to stamp it out. There’s a reason why officers always carry sidearms, and it’s not because we expect an Alliance invasion at any second. There’s a reason why I often have bodyguards around me. I’m going to do my best to keep you alive, and I’m sure that Colonel Rogero will do the same. But you need to know what’s going on so you’ll stay alert for trouble.”

  “I . . . will do that, General.” She looked up at the large display mounted on the front of the passenger compartment. It was now displaying a single external view of the planet below them as the shuttle dropped ever lower. “It’s beautiful.”

  “I’ve seen a lot worse planets,” Drakon agreed. “Are you going to be all right, Captain?”

  She switched her gaze, and he saw an Alliance battle cruiser commander looking back at him. Tough. Smart. Not just competent, but skilled. “I’ll be all right, General.”

  He had wondered what could have led Rogero to fall in love with an enemy prisoner of war. Having finally met her, he found that Rogero’s fall wasn’t all that surprising. “We’ll land next to my headquarters complex. Colonel Rogero is standing by there. He doesn’t know why, by the way.”

  “He’ll have seen the news reports—”

  “No, he won’t. As far as Colonel Rogero knows, you left with Black Jack’s fleet.”

  She smiled. “You’re an evil man, General.”

  “Most people who have said that really mean it, you know.”

  “I doubt that. General, may I make a request?”

  COLONEL Rogero tried not to look as aggravated as he felt. It was not by any means the first time he had been pulled away from his unit on vague orders from General Drakon. It also wasn’t the first time he had been escorted to a secure conference room in the main command complex to await the General and a briefing on orders too sensitive to be passed on by any other means.

  But he had been sitting here for hours, alone in a conference room that was not just secure but also sealed. He hadn’t been able to access any comm lines, hadn’t been able to check on alerts or current events or anything else outside the four walls confining him. I wanted to see the former enigma prisoners arrive. There were rumors that the General would be at the main orbiting facility for that. Why am I a virtual prisoner in here when there is so much going on outside?

  It wasn’t just the former prisoners coming in, though their arrival could arouse a wave of rumors and even instability among the citizens. There were still snakes hidden out there, and he couldn’t hunt for them while confined in a room that didn’t even allow him to call out.

  Is my own loyalty suspected? Colonel Morgan has been acting guarded around me for a while, but Colonel Malin knows me well enough to know I would not betray General Drakon. But, if knowledge of my ties with the snakes has become more widely known . . .

  Rogero looked toward the door with a sinking feeling. Protective custody? Is that what this is? To keep my own troops from murdering me as a snake agent? Surely Drakon would tell them the truth, that I misled the snakes and protected the General. But would they listen?

  He saw the door latch move, then the portal swung open. General Dra
kon himself, looking unconcerned. “I’m sorry you’ve been kept on ice for a while, Donal. There was something I needed to take care of.”

  “General,” Rogero said, rising from his seat a bit faster than he usually would have, “is there anything—”

  Drakon waved a dismissive hand. “You’re all right. I brought you here to tell you that you’re getting another collateral duty.”

  “Another collateral duty?” That wasn’t welcome news. Extra jobs on the side tended to take an inordinate amount of time away from your primary job. But compared to his earlier worries, it was a very small inconvenience. “What is it?”

  “I’ll show you. Come on.”

  Rogero followed, mystified, as Drakon led the way through the complex. “How’s your unit doing?”

  “They’re fine, General. Morale is good.”

  “Excellent. I need to talk to you later about your impressions of the troops and their attitudes toward the citizens.” Drakon stopped before the closed door of a small automated snack bar for use by headquarters personnel. “But that can wait a few hours. Here we are.”

  “General?”

  Drakon glanced at Rogero. “Your new, extra responsibility is inside. It’s something that only you can deal with, Colonel.”

  “In . . . a snack bar?”

  “Take your time. When you’re done in there, report to VIP Quarters One. Understand?”

  “VIP ?”

  “Just do as you’re told, Colonel.” Drakon partially opened the door, took Rogero by one arm, and urged him through the gap.

  Mystified, and a bit worried again, Rogero started to turn back as he heard the door click shut behind him. Instead, he spun to face the inside of the room as someone stood up from one of the tables.

  For one of the few times in his life, Donal Rogero could only stare, unable to think or talk.

  “I bought you a drink,” Captain Bradamont said, offering a bottle. “I didn’t have any of the local currency, so your General lent me some.”

  The Alliance dress uniform she wore was clean and neat, not like the torn and burn-marked battle uniform that Bradamont had worn on the prisoner transport ship and in the labor camp. A command pin had been added to the decorations she wore, along with some new campaign and battle ribbons. But she herself had not changed at all. “Honore?” Rogero finally said as his brain gradually began working again. “Is this real?”

  She walked up to him, offering the bottle once more. “It’s real. I told you that I’d buy you a drink someday. Your General said this is a popular drink here.”

  “He was joking,” Rogero said, feeling dizzy. “The troops call it croak because of the taste. We use it to clean brass.”

  “Oh, sorry.” She paused, looking at him. “You said you’d buy dinner.”

  “Yes. I did.” Rogero shook his head. “I . . . I don’t understand.”

  “I’ve been detached from the Alliance fleet with orders to serve as liaison officer to the Midway Star System.”

  “It’s . . . not possible. General Drakon knows. He knows about us.”

  “Yes. So does Admiral Geary.”

  “Then . . . why?”

  “Because they know us,” Bradamont said. “They know that we held to honor despite everything and that we never failed in our duties. We never betrayed them, we never betrayed our worlds, and we never betrayed each other. Maybe that qualifies us to show our respective peoples how to work together. There were some other reasons why I ended up being asked to volunteer for this assignment, but we can discuss those another time.”

  Enough neurons finally started firing in Rogero’s brain for him to think. “General Drakon set this up? How did he know that the last thing you said to me was that you would buy me a drink someday?”

  “I told him.” She smiled. “He seems like a hard boss, but a good one.”

  “He’s a very good boss. He’s . . . he’s . . . Dammit, Honore, may I hold you? May I kiss you?”

  “Why the hell are you asking instead of doing it, Donal? But be careful not to muss the uniform.”

  DRAKON waited until an escort arrived to get Bradamont safely to her quarters, telling them to wait until Colonel Rogero opened the door. As he walked away, he saw Morgan standing at the end of the hallway, her eyes locked on the door to the snack bar.

  “Is what I heard true?” she demanded.

  Instead of replying, Drakon bent a stern look her way. “Is that the proper tone of voice to use with me?”

  She made an obvious effort to control herself. “Pardon me, sir. Is it true that an Alliance fleet officer is in that room and not under arrest?”

  “We’re not at war with them anymore, Colonel Morgan. In fact, they’re acting a lot like allies.”

  “Sir—”

  “Yes. An Alliance fleet captain is in that room. She is an official representative to President Iceni and me, and she is under the personal protection of President Iceni and me. She is my scion. Understand? Nothing is to happen to her, and she is to be treated with the respect appropriate to her rank.”

  “Your . . . scion.” Morgan stared at him, her eyes wide and alight with fury. “An Alliance officer. They killed—”

  “We all killed, Colonel Morgan. The war has ended. We have plenty of enemies in common. We start over now. Even if that weren’t true, we need the backing from Black Jack that woman gives us. She might be the one thing that buys us enough time to get our forces strong enough to stand on our own.”

  The way she regained full control almost instantaneously was startling and more than a little alarming. The fire in Morgan’s eyes died, replaced by a cold shield that revealed neither thoughts nor feeling. Her expression smoothed out into a similarly shielded exterior. “Yes, General. I understand.” Even her voice was now perfectly professional and properly respectful.

  “Colonel Morgan . . . Roh . . . we need to do things differently. For a long time, the past, the present, and the future were all the same. The same war then, the same war now, the same war to come. That pattern has finally been broken. The future can be different than the past. The future can be better than the past.”

  Emotion came back. Morgan nodded, smiling in total agreement. “Yes, sir. The future will be better. We will build our strength, and we will make a better future.”

  “You understand that declaring Captain Bradamont to be a scion of myself and President Iceni is to ensure her safety?”

  Morgan smiled and nodded. “It doesn’t mean she’s really your heir in any way.”

  “That’s right. Come along with me. I want to talk about finding the snakes still hiding on this planet or elsewhere in this star system.”

  “I’ve been digging. Got a few leads,” Morgan said as she walked beside him. They went out the front of the headquarters complex into the open area before it, guards automatically falling into place around Drakon. He glanced at the turf covering much of the plaza facing his headquarters, his mind as usual briefly recalling how much effort the Syndicate had insisted go into keeping that grass perfect, including the use of the most sophisticated genetic manipulation to create grass of just the “right” shade of green and just the right thickness of each blade of grass. He had looked at the official specifications for grass once, marveling at how much effort could be invested in something so relatively unimportant, especially given the Syndicate bureaucracy’s tendency to blow off issues regarding the safety of the soldiers who were prohibited from walking on the grass except during official functions.

  Behind them, the front of the headquarters complex did not look like the fortress that it was, the armor and defenses hidden behind false windows, façades, and other decoration. In one of its odder decisions, the Syndicate bureaucracy had mandated no fences or other barriers or defenses on the other three sides of the parade plaza, declaring that ground forces headquarters must appear open and accessible to the
citizens. Or perhaps the decision hadn’t been so odd since it had meant the snakes inside their Internal Security Service facilities had been better protected behind their defensive walls than the soldiers of the ground forces.

  “We should fix some of this,” Drakon commented to Morgan. “Now that we can. Get some unobtrusive defenses set up along the outer perimeter of the parade area. No citizens are allowed on it anyway.” He scanned the other three sides of the plaza, where low, multiuse buildings of various designs sat across from an access road that formally separated the headquarters area from the rest of the city. A lot of the citizens were in sight, going about their business and, out of long habit, avoiding even glancing toward the headquarters. The snakes had liked to haul in anyone suspected of “surveillance,” even if the evidence for that had consisted only of a single fleeting look toward a government building.

  “Now you’re talking,” Morgan agreed, and began describing a set of defenses that would have withstood a full-scale attack by an entire army.

  “Maybe a little less than that,” Drakon suggested dryly, glad that he had gotten Morgan’s mind off the Alliance officer. “Have you found any leads yet on—”

  Drakon would never know just what had tipped off one of his bodyguards. The woman had begun to shout a warning, her weapon out and coming up to aim, when alarms tied to automated sensors watching the area blared to life, followed a second later by shots erupting from three sides.

  CHAPTER NINE

  ICENI, head lowered in thought, bolted to attention as an urgent signal echoed in her office. “What is it?”

  The staff official looking at her through the virtual window that had popped up beside her desk spoke rapidly. “We have reports of weapons being fired near General Drakon’s headquarters. Automated collection systems show an ongoing firefight.”

  “A firefight?” Iceni demanded. “Not just a few shots?”

  “There are scores of shots already recorded, Madam President. I have dispatched emergency tactical teams from the nearest police stations and notified the nearest hospitals to send assistance.”