Shattered Spear

by Jack Campbell

  “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 enou
gh 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 l
ed 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.