The Lost Stars (44 page)

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 impressed 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.

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—”

“Shut up,” Malin advised her casually, emphasizing the words with a little extra pressure on the weapon jammed against her skull. “Colonel Rogero, when the mob attacked Captain Bradamont on the freighter, who was the first supervisor on the scene?”

“Executive Ito,” Rogero said, his voice gone flat.

“Closest to the event, the first to get there. The first to see who was still alive. Just as if she had set the leaders of the mob into motion and was standing by to see how well the plan worked. Who interrogated the workers for information about who instigated the mob attack?”

“Executive Ito,” Rogero said, looking ill. “She said one of the wounded ones died before he could say anything.”

“I don't doubt that,” Malin said. “But, Colonel, you know to be suspicious when people who may know something you need to know conveniently die before they can tell you anything.”

“Yes, I do.” Rogero gazed at Ito with dawning anger. “Garadun told you and Jepsen to tell everyone on the freighters about Kalixa, that the Alliance hadn't committed that atrocity. You told Jepsen not to, that you would do it. But you never would have, would
you?”

Ito said nothing.

“You were going to kill General Drakon first,” Malin said conversationally to Ito. “At a gathering with many mobile forces personnel and President Iceni. Suspicion would have fallen on the President, wouldn't it? And when you subsequently found a way to murder President Iceni, it would look like the ground forces had retaliated for the murder of General Drakon. The entire star system would have collapsed into civil war, making the survivors easy pickings for the Syndicate. And you would have been a Hero of the Syndicate. Am I right, Executive
Ito?”

“Executive Ito,” Iceni said in an icy voice, “seems to have lost her voice.”

“We'll see how much she says under interrogation,” Drakon said.

“No.” Ito's voice had changed, had become as devoid of emotion as her expression now was. The habitual cheerfulness, the camaraderie, were gone, replaced by an awful blankness. “Do you think I want to die the way you'll kill me? Slowly, screaming for mercy from the likes of you? I will not be the last. I will not betray the Syndicate. I'll see you all in hell.”

“Togo!” Iceni cried, a dawning awareness in her eyes as she gestured toward Ito. “Stop—!”

Ito stiffened, then went limp, falling lifeless to the floor. Malin let her drop, gazing down at her without feeling.

Togo halted his lunge toward Ito, instead going to one knee next to her and running a scanner over the body. “Dead. I cannot tell what did
it.”

“A suicide device?” Iceni asked. “But she was screened. The Alliance must have screened her, too, when they took her prisoner.”

Malin had slowly knelt on the other side of Ito's body, his eyes on it. “A suicide device that cannot be detected by screens. We need to find out what it
was.”

“That's not all we need to find out,” Morgan said sharply. “General, we need to talk.”

Iceni spread her hands slightly. “Feel free.” Despite her calm tone, she was almost shaking as she looked at Togo. “I'll make sure the body gets fully autopsied. And I will learn how that woman got through screening that should have spotted what she was. Don't shake anyone's hand, General.”

“Don't worry,” Drakon said. “I think I'm going to wear gloves for a while.”

He led the way out, followed by Morgan, Rogero, and Malin. The now-stunned newly appointed officers stood around silently, doubtless wondering what would happen to them if the usual guilt by association they were used to in the Syndicate system was employed here as well.

Once in a nearby secure room, Morgan spun to face Rogero. “I think someone has some questions to answer.”

Drakon held up an admonishing hand. “What questions?”

“Who brought that snake here? Who missed obvious clues as to what she was? Who was so besotted with an Alliance officer that he failed to personally interrogate the workers who took part in the riot on that freighter?”

Rogero's face had darkened, but his voice stayed controlled. “Ito fooled people she lived with for years.”

“What about the interrogation, Colonel Rogero?” Morgan demanded.

“To that, I am guilty,” Rogero said evenly. “I was too rattled by the attempted killing to focus on my job and improperly delegated something that I should have done myself.”

“Was that because Bradamont was the target?” Drakon asked.

“Yes, sir. It was. I let personal considerations distract me from my duty. I will add something that was not discussed out there. After Bradamont left the ship, while we were in jump, Ito attempted to develop an intimate relationship with
me.”

“Attempted?” Drakon asked. “You turned her down?”

“Yes,
sir.”

“You got that right, at least. Anything else?”

“No,
sir.”

“All right. We'll discuss the matter later. Colonel Morgan, was there anything else on your part?”

Stymied by Rogero's blunt admission of failure, Morgan was glowering at him. “General, this kind of failure—”

“Will be further discussed with Colonel Rogero by me—in private.”

“Sir, you can't let him get away with this because of his personal relationship—”

“Colonel Morgan, that is all,” Drakon said, his voice rising in volume and dropping in pitch. “I don't require my officers to be perfect. I will carefully evaluate the mistakes made by Colonel Rogero and make my own determination as to the proper response, but I will also keep in mind that we are all capable of mistakes.”

“Not me, General,” Morgan insisted.

“Not you?” Malin's eyes on Morgan were flat and hard. “You might be surprised to learn about some of the mistakes you've made.”

“If you know something—” Morgan began furiously, grabbing Malin's wrist much as he had grabbed Ito's earlier.

“That's enough!” Drakon said.

Stricken by the tone of Drakon's voice, Morgan dropped her grasp on Malin, came to stiff attention, and saluted. “Yes, sir. By your leave, sir.” Turning, she pulled open the door and stormed
out.

“I didn't think she disliked me that much,” Rogero said.

“She dislikes everyone,” Malin replied. “But this isn't your fault. Colonel Morgan is angry because I caught Ito, not her. She was flat-footed and unprepared when Ito almost killed General Drakon because she was watching you, Colonel Rogero, and me, not
Ito.”

“Bran,” Drakon said with some heat, “I am enormously grateful for your work, but there's no need to bait Morgan about
it.”

“Anything I said would be considered baiting by her, sir. I guarantee you that she feels enraged at having failed to spot a danger to you before I did. Morgan cannot accept that I succeeded where she did
not.”

“You'd
both
better keep it professional, understand?” Drakon said, wondering if the rivalry had reached the point where he would have to break up the pair despite their usefulness, and their apparent loyalty, to
him.

“It is a shame,” Rogero commented in a neutral voice, “that Ito died before she could lead us to the other covert snakes hidden in this star system.”

Malin shook his head. “I am beginning to strongly suspect that there are no other covert snakes in this star system.”

“No other snakes?” Drakon demanded. “Then who has been behind the attacks, the spying, and the other things we've experienced?”

“I am still trying to learn that, General. And we certainly can't rule out more snakes among the survivors of the Reserve Flotilla. But what I have found is that often the way the things we have experienced have been done is contrary to snake procedures, except when something is done so clumsily it is certain to be detected. And then the snake procedures are followed to the letter.”

“By someone who wants us to think they're a snake?” Rogero asked.

“Yes.” Malin looked at Drakon. “No, I don't suspect Morgan in all of it. There are probably multiple players in this game, which has confused the tracks no end. For example, I know that Morgan would not target you. Nor have I seen any sign that she is targeting Captain Bradamont. But someone is trying to conduct preattack surveillance on Bradamont, and the last assassination attempt on you was dead serious.”

Rogero turned on Malin. “Why haven't I been told?”

“Because I don't have anything that adds up to certainty of another attack or the identity of whoever is behind it,” Malin explained. “And, Captain Bradamont is being appropriately careful of her personal safety.”

“Yes,” Rogero agreed reluctantly. “The mob attack on the freighter drove home to her that even in a supposedly safe environment, she can be in danger.”

“Who is targeting me, then?” Drakon asked. “That assassination attempt by those People's Word fanatics had snake fingerprints on it, didn't
it?”

“I'm not sure of that, sir,” Malin explained. “We were meant to think that, but I have been considering the matter.” He walked to one wall, where an illustration of the star system hung, providing both decoration and useful prop. Malin pointed to the image of the planet they were on. “That attack on you, and the subsequent security actions, effectively wiped out The People's Word organization. The leaders were killed or forced to resign, the most fervent believers died in the attack, and most of the members scattered to less radical organizations. The entire agenda of The People's Word was discredited for the citizens by its involvement in the attack on you. If you were a snake, and you wished this star system to be politically destabilized, wouldn't you want something like The People's Word to be strengthened rather than eliminated? To grow stronger and challenge the authority of both you and President Iceni?”

Drakon came up beside Malin, narrowing his eyes as he thought, his gaze on the image of the planet. “That's a really good point. Those People's Word types were already causing some disruption in the planned elections. Getting rid of them benefited me and President Iceni.” He looked over at Malin. “Though getting rid of them could have also involved my death. Are you implying that the President was behind that whole thing?”