The Lost Stars: Imperfect Sword

by Jack Campbell

  This time, Rogero hesitated a moment before replying. “Madam President, I would not be going out there if I did not believe it was absolutely necessary to ensure that Midway has a future. There is an old saying that he who will not risk cannot win. I am certain that applies here.”

  “What about me?” Iceni asked. “Will there be a requirement for me to risk in a similar fashion? Do you believe I should expose myself as well?”

  Another moment of hesitation, then Rogero shook his head. “Not immediately. I would recommend waiting to see how things go when the ground forces deploy. Most of the soldiers are workers in the eyes of the citizens, and our officers are relatively junior supervisors. We all take orders. You, on the other hand, give orders. That’s how the citizens see it, so you represent the ultimate level of authority for them. If you decide that the situation remains in the balance despite our efforts, an open appearance from you at that time could make all the difference.”

  “I agree,” Iceni said. “Make sure you do not die, Colonel Rogero. I shall be extremely upset with you if that happens.”

  He grinned, accidentally revealing his own tension in the quickness and tightness of the expression. “I will keep that in mind, Madam President. We will move out in five minutes.”

  “I will have media reactivated as you do so,” Iceni said. “I am assured that the worms and bots that previously prevented us from controlling what went out along media channels have now been deactivated, and we once again control all media.”

  “Excellent,” Rogero said. “If anything we don’t want gets through despite that—”

  “I don’t think we have to worry about that, Colonel. I asked my techs how many software engineers it would take to deactivate a bomb in the same room with them, and none of them seemed eager to learn the answer through experimental trials.”

  “Well, that would be another hardware problem, wouldn’t it?” Rogero saluted, then nodded to her. “I will report in after this is over, Madam President.”

  “See that you do.”

  She checked her clothing. A nice suit, not the standard Syndicate CEO suit, which she had grown to loathe, but rather something that had no trace of the Syndicate to its cut and color. A suit that projected authority and power but not ruthlessness. Iceni took a good look at her hair and face. Neither was perfect, but that was all to the good. If the citizens needed to see her, they needed to see her as human, as one of them in some ways. Being a president had proven to be much more of a challenge than being an autocratic CEO, but she had already learned a lot.

  Then she waited, watching the many virtual windows.

  “Madam President? Should we open media broadcasts as scheduled?”

  “Yes. Do it.”

  She saw random patterns of reaction moving through the restive crowds as media access was restored, and citizens began searching for information.

  The ground forces appeared. Not just Colonel Rogero’s, but all of the local soldiers as well.

  None of them wore armor. None of them carried weapons. They wore their uniforms neatly, proudly, and walked with slow, confident strides as they marched in many small formations along the streets and toward the plazas and parks where the crowds were massed.

  Iceni zoomed in some views, knowing that every media channel would be showing similar images. The citizens nearest the soldiers were watching them, instinctive fear and hostility toward the traditional enforcers of Syndicate control shading into bafflement at the lack of riot-suppression equipment.

  The soldiers smiled and waved as they marched, small clusters of uniforms isolated amid the mobs. If the mobs turned on them, they would be swamped in moments.

  There was Colonel Rogero, walking with some of his soldiers, looking as if he had not a care in the world.

  “Everything is fine,” Iceni heard some of the soldiers saying.

  “No problems,” from others.

  “Do you need anything?”

  “Is everyone all right?”

  Iceni eyed the scenes, listened to the voices, watched various media channels showing actions and reactions. She let her instincts evaluate all of those things, let her next action be dictated not by cold calculation but by processes operating below the level of conscious thought. She had risen through the Syndicate ranks by reading people, by sensing their moods and their attitudes, and at the moment that particular skill told her something very important.

  The efforts of Rogero’s ground forces weren’t enough. The crowds were still wavering, still uncertain. They knew the ground forces would be following orders, her orders, and if she was following the old Syndicate ways, she would not be worried about what would happen to those soldiers if everything went bad.

  The people needed another push, another demonstration, one dramatic enough to finally tip the balance.

  Iceni looked down, closed her eyes, centered herself internally on the calm, cool place inside where her emotional core lay.

  She got up and walked out of her office.

  Her bodyguards leaped into position around her as she walked, but Iceni waved them back. “Stay here.” She felt naked in her vulnerability, wondering once again what had happened to Togo, but kept walking with a firm, steady stride as the bodyguards stopped moving, obedient to her command but staring after her with uncomprehending eyes.

  Iceni went up stairs and along passages until she reached the massive, formal front entrance to her governing complex, gesturing to the guards there to open the armored doors and stand aside.

  There was a vast plaza before the building, and in that plaza a vast crowd.

  She walked alone across the entry portico as media zoomed in on her, walked down the flight of granite stairs, and stood right before the edges of the crowd, only one step above their level, one woman facing a mass of humanity.

  She wondered about assassins as she faced so many strangers with no bodyguards anywhere close to her. There had to be some trained killers on the planet, the same who had tried to murder Colonel Rogero. But such assassins were careful planners. They watched where their targets went and what their targets did, and they prepared with special diligence to kill under just the right circumstances, as they nearly had with Rogero.

  Which assassin would have predicted this, that she would be here, in the open, where she never came?

  For a while, at least, she must be safe from that threat, having done the unpredictable and the unthinkable.

  All she had to worry about instead was the raw power of tens of thousands of citizens who could erupt at any moment.

  Iceni smiled as the crowd fell silent. “Everything is all right,” she said, her words amplified through the plaza. “I wanted to tell you that in person. There is no danger threatening us at this moment. As you have seen, Colonel Rogero is alive and well, and I am alive and well. The ground forces are not fighting, our mobile forces protect us, and your elected officials remain free and able to fulfill the roles you chose them for. There is no danger to you from any of your leaders. Most especially not from me. I am your president.”

  She waited. The thousands of people here stared at her in disbelief. Very few of them would have ever seen a star-system CEO in person, and if so then only through a screen of heavily armed bodyguards. Countless other citizens must be watching the media feeds with equal incredulity. Syndicate CEOs did not go out among their people, not openly, not without enough bodyguards to fight off a small army. Iceni had been a Syndicate CEO, and to many of the citizens, she had remained tainted by that.

  One young woman, bolder than the others, finally found her voice. “Why are you here?” she called.

  “Because,” Iceni said, making sure her voice carried effortlessly across the crowd, knowing that her words would be picked up and transmitted everywhere on the planet, “I am not afraid of you. And I do not want you to be afraid of me.”

  It was perhaps the biggest lie she had ever spoken, and there had been some truly majestic lies spoken by her over time. Iceni was desperately afr
aid, her heart pounding as she smiled serenely at the huge mob almost within arm’s reach of her. The words of every mentor, every superior, every teacher, every companion of equal rank came back to her. They are dangerous, they must be kept leashed and controlled, you must never expose yourself to them, you must never appear vulnerable or small before them, you must beat and subdue and force them into submission because if they ever believe that they can change their fates or exact revenge, then you will be torn to pieces by them.

  A hand reached out of the crowd toward her and it took all of Iceni’s discipline and strength to avoid flinching back from it. But the hand did not threaten, it just reached, and after a moment Iceni forced herself to reach back and gently grasp it. “Greetings, citizen,” she said in the same placid-but-carrying tone of voice.

  She felt it then, as if by touching that hand she had thrown a stone into a pond, the ripples spreading out from that gesture, the smiles appearing and the tension evaporating. That was how it was with mobs. When they tipped, they went all out, and this mob had tipped not into violence and rage but into reassurance and celebration. She felt it and she knew it and her fear was suddenly charged with a strange exhilaration. “For the people!” Iceni cried, raising her hands, and the words came repeated back to her by the mass of humanity in the plaza, a roar of support and approval that terrified her with the immensity and the force of it, the sound echoing back from the structure behind her with what felt like enough power to rock her on her feet.

  Steeling herself, Iceni walked another step toward the crowd, citizens pushing to be closer to her, but still maintaining a slight distance through force of habit, touching, cheering, waving.

  The tiny comm device in her right ear murmured with Colonel Rogero’s voice. “Congratulations, Madam President. You did it. All areas are reporting that the crisis ended when media showed your appearance outside your residence. The crisis has turned into an enormous party. We’re going to make sure all of the liquor outlets and drug outlets stay closed, so the partying doesn’t get out of hand.”

  Iceni kept smiling even though she wanted to collapse with relief, tried to control the rapid beating of her heart, tried not to let her awe of the power of the mass of humanity before her show in her eyes, as she touched and smiled and waved back.

  She had them, she suddenly realized. She had all of their strength in her hands at that moment. They would do whatever she asked, not reluctantly out of coercion, but enthusiastically out of belief in her, putting their hearts and souls into the task. This was the power that the Syndicate feared, this was the power that the Alliance claimed to wield, and it was hers. She had been afraid of these people before, afraid of the power of the mob, but now that she held their power to use or misuse, now that she finally held that which she had longed for, it scared the hell out of her.

  “HERE comes another barrage! Into the shelters!”

  Drakon sat down, feeling clumsy and massive in his battle armor, the seat creaking beneath his weight. The command center had few soldiers in it besides him and Malin. He eyed the information on his display about the incoming barrage, judging it through his way-too-extensive experience with being bombarded by enemy artillery. “It’s a little lighter than the first one. They must be running low on rockets.”

  “There is a higher proportion of gun artillery,” Malin agreed. “Sir, we’re going to have to employ chaff from the base stocks if they hit us again after this. Everything blocking precision weapon targeting and sensors out there is starting to get thin.”

  “This second Syndicate barrage will throw up more junk,” Drakon said. “Colonel Kai, Colonel Safir, how are your troops doing for ammo?”

  “Fully resupplied, General, with more stocks in ready resupply right behind the forward positions,” Kai said.

  “Same here, General,” Safir reported. “The troops are tired, though. It’s been a long day.”

  “Up patches are authorized for anyone who hasn’t employed one yet,” Drakon said. Using too many of the stimulant patches too fast was a recipe for psychotic episodes, which was a particularly bad thing when heavily armed soldiers were involved. But it was probably past time to give his soldiers a mental and physical boost after all they had already been through.

  “Yes, sir. My people believe that they have spotted preliminary indications of Syndicate troops massing opposite sector four,” Safir said.

  Malin nodded in agreement. “From the small signs our sensors have picked up in the Syndicate positions, I estimate the next two attacks will come at sectors one and four.”

  “They’ll do the same thing,” Kai said. “Failure is no indication of a flaw in planning.” Safir laughed sharply, drawing a puzzled look from Kai. “I was merely pointing out Syndicate tactical philosophy,” he said. “Do you disagree?”

  “No, Colonel. I was admiring the accuracy of your statement,” Safir replied.

  Drakon barely managed to hide his own smile. Safir, having served so long with Gaiene, had plenty of experience with comebacks. But the reminder of Conner made the smile vanish before it could form, then the bombardment arrived.

  The sky fell on the base again, the overheads, the walls, and the floors trembling with the constant shock of explosions. But the Syndicate could build things well, and this base seemed to be lacking in the most common construction flaws and errors. Ground-penetrating artillery was being foiled by layers of special armor, surface fortifications were shrugging off armor-penetrating artillery, and the concussions of the high-explosive rounds were accomplishing little but to bounce around the increasingly fine gravel and dust which this morning had been the surface structures of the base.

  Malin took a report, then shook his head at Drakon as more dust silted down from the ceiling. “Executive First Rank Finley, the supposed senior snake here, is dead. She was taken prisoner during our initial assault but was found dead among the prisoners, all of whom professed to know nothing about what happened to her.”

  “Funny how often snakes die during assaults or when captured and left among other prisoners,” Drakon said, leaning back and looking up so he could see through his helmet’s visual sensors a stream of dust falling toward him from a small crack in the ceiling.

  “A lot of them died here,” Malin agreed. “From what I have been able to piece together, that’s what allowed us to seize the base so quickly once we penetrated the fortifications. The snakes stationed at the front lines began shooting soldiers who tried to retreat, and the other soldiers took that badly enough to start massacring the snakes among them. The brigade holding this base fell apart from the inside when we punched the outside hard enough.”

  “Morgan was right about that,” Drakon said.

  “Yes . . . she was.”

  Drakon gazed upward at the falling dust, wondering again what had happened to Morgan, and wishing as usual that he could leave whatever command center he was in and go to the front line. He had never liked the usual necessity of holding back from getting directly involved in the fighting, so he could focus on the big picture. It did not feel brave or right when his soldiers were fighting and dying as a result of the commands he issued. But I know I have to do it that way. If I’m not looking out for the big picture, acting like the commanding officer should act, then I would be betraying them. Who would do my job if I weren’t doing it?

  Who would care about these soldiers if I didn’t?

  “The barrage is ceasing,” Malin cautioned. “Surviving surface sensors see no more inbound rounds after the next volley hits in thirty seconds.”

  Drakon sat up, stood up, and focused on his display. “All units, the latest barrage will cease after the next rounds land. Exit blast bunkers in forty seconds and reoccupy all outer fortifications.”

  The ground shook through a final spasm, then Drakon saw on the virtual windows before him Syndicate chaff rounds sprouting their clouds of confusion in the open area all around the base.

  “Hold on,” he heard Colonel Safir say to what was now her bri
gade. “Don’t fire until you have targets. Wait for it.”

  “Stand by,” Colonel Kai told his soldiers. “Ready.”

  The defenders had been able to rest during the barrage. They had been resupplied from the ample stockpiles of ammunition in the base and had eaten rations from the base supplies. Now they packed into the fortifications where many of the automated defenses had been destroyed by earlier fighting, their own weapons leveled toward the chaff clouds before them.

  At both sector one and sector four, a mass of figures in battle armor burst through the murk and into full view less than twenty meters from the outer fortifications.

  “Fire,” Safir and Kai said simultaneously.

  The front ranks of the assault evaporated under the defensive fire at both locations. Stubborn attackers kept coming, stumbling over the bodies of their comrades, facing a storm of fire that knocked them down mercilessly.

  The attackers at sector one faltered, standing still for a few moments, leaning into the defensive fire as if it were a heavy wind. Then they broke, scrambling back into the chaff clouds.

  But opposite sector four the attackers confronting Safir’s soldiers kept coming, wave after wave, until their bodies began blocking the firing ports of the fortifications.

  “Colonel! We can’t cover the base of the wall anymore! Their breaching teams will have a free shot!”

  “The hell they will!” Safir cried. “General, request permission to counterattack.”

  Malin cast a startled glance at Drakon, who had been watching the pressure build on Safir’s troops. “General, that’s—”

  “A very good idea,” Drakon said. “The Syndicate troops back at their lines won’t be able to see our forces leave the base because of the chaff they laid to screen their own attack. Colonel Safir, permission granted. Sally your counterattack from sector five. Clear the base of the wall, then get your people back inside.”

  “You heard the man!” Safir called. “Third Battalion, go!”

  Sally ports shot open in the base of the fortifications to one side of where the masses of attackers were piling up against the base’s outer wall. The Third Battalion of the Second Brigade, with Colonel Safir in their midst, poured out, immediately pivoted ninety degrees, and hit the side of the Syndicate assault like a hammer.