The Lost Stars: Perilous Shield tls-2

by Jack Campbell

  “It won’t be enough, but it’ll be a start,” Drakon conceded. “There goes the hatch. Let’s hope this doesn’t turn into a fiasco.”

  The background noise of talking and shouting among the citizens dwindled rapidly as Captain Bradamont came walking out of the hatch, heading straight for Drakon and Iceni. Her Alliance uniform was impossible to miss, as was the fact that she was not walking like a prisoner. The conversation among the citizens died out completely before a few angry shouts erupted.

  By then, Bradamont had reached Drakon and Iceni. She came to attention and saluted in the Alliance fashion, the fingertips of her right hand to her right brow, holding the gesture as she spoke. “President Iceni, General Drakon,” she said in a voice that easily carried. “It is my great pleasure to deliver to you on behalf of the Alliance the citizens who were formerly held captive by the enigma alien race. We have brought them home, as they wished, and now release them to the care of their friends, families, and loved ones.”

  Drakon returned a Syndic salute, right fist coming across to rest on his left breast. “Thank you.”

  Iceni nodded. “We are all in debt to Black Jack, who liberated these citizens from the enigmas, brought them back to us through great dangers, and asked for nothing in return for them.”

  The buzz of conversation this time was much more subdued as the citizens reacted to the show that been put on for their benefit. Drakon suspected that Bradamont’s little speech had been edited by Iceni before the freighter carrying her arrived.

  Bradamont stepped a little closer and spoke much more quietly. “Watch the liberated prisoners carefully when they come out and handle them gently if they start to act up. They’re very jumpy. Not dangerous. Just scared.”

  “Got it,” Drakon said, watching as the liberated prisoners began coming out of the hatch. Some wore new overalls and other clothing provided by the Alliance, while many others clung to the patchwork assortment of clothing they had worn when liberated. They walked in a group, staying together like a herd of animals seeking protection, some looking around in wonder and others staring fixedly ahead. Most of them broke into relieved smiles as they saw images and uniforms that told them they were indeed home.

  One of them, an elderly man, saw Drakon and pulled himself away from the others. He straightened and saluted in a jerky, rusty way, as if the gesture were something dimly remembered.

  “Line Worker Olan Paster,” he announced. “Reporting for duty.”

  Drakon regarded the old man somberly as he returned the salute. “What is your unit?”

  “Hunter-Killer 9356G, sir.”

  “G-model Hunter-Killers haven’t been constructed for decades,” Iceni said. She looked up from a quick data check. “HuK 9356G is listed as having disappeared at Pele forty-five years ago.”

  “It has been that long?” The old man blinked in confusion. “We had no way to track time. The Alliance told us the universal date, but we wondered. I’m sorry. I don’t know the clothes you wear, so I don’t know what title to give you.”

  “We’ve discarded standard Syndic outfits,” Drakon told him. “I’m General Drakon, this is President Iceni. We are no longer part of the Syndicate Worlds.”

  “Not . . . Syndicate?”

  “No,” Iceni said, smiling reassuringly now. “There are no snakes in this star system,” she announced to all of the former prisoners. “We are no longer servants to the Syndicate, no longer slaves to the CEOs on Prime. We, and you, are free. You will be given living quarters on this station and treated well. As soon as any family members in this star system are identified, they will be allowed to visit you. Cooperate to the best of your ability in answering all questions. Citizens from Taroa, we have accepted temporary custody of you pending your acceptance by the new government in Taroa Star System. The rest of you are welcome here while we locate your homes and try to arrange transportation.”

  A woman of late middle age stared at Drakon. “What has happened to the Syndicate Worlds? The Alliance workers told us they had won the war, that it was over. We didn’t believe them.”

  “Did the Alliance treat you well?” Iceni asked for the benefit of the onlookers.

  “Yes. Yes, they were good to us.”

  “The war is over,” Drakon said. “You’ll have access to current news as well as archives and history so you can catch up on events.”

  “Thank you, honored CEO—”

  “General,” Drakon interrupted. “My rank is General. The civilian leader of this star system is President Iceni. CEOs no longer rule here.”

  “For the people!” Iceni said loudly, drawing renewed cheers from the onlookers as doctors began leading the liberated prisoners toward the room block set aside for them.

  A small child, who must have never known freedom, broke away from the group and ran up to Captain Bradamont. “Thank you! Thank you for saving us!” the child cried before her mother caught up and led her back to the group.

  Drakon glanced at Iceni and saw her smiling. That little incident would play very well on every newscast and other form of media. I wonder if Gwen somehow set that up, too?

  Captain Bradamont watched the prisoners leave, then faced Drakon and Iceni again. “I am at your service.”

  She was putting up a good act. He had to give Bradamont credit for that. But Drakon could see the nervousness behind her unruffled façade.

  “So I understand,” Drakon said. “Come along. Your bags will be brought down later.”

  He and Iceni began walking back toward the VIP boarding area, Bradamont between them. It felt odd to walk side by side with an Alliance officer. Very odd. Soldiers formed security a ways before and behind as they walked, as did several men and women dressed as citizens who stayed well away but who were exceptionally alert and radiated a dangerous competence.

  “My office,” Iceni said, “is issuing a public announcement about you, Captain Bradamont. Everyone in Midway Star System is being told that you are here as a personal representative of Black Jack. Do you know the term ‘scion’?”

  Bradamont shook her head.

  “There are several sorts of patronage arrangements in the Syndicate system,” Iceni explained. “We still default to that system. People still think in those terms and understand those terms. Most patronage arrangements are informal, reflecting varying degrees of interest by a higher-up in the career and life of a particular subordinate.”

  “I understand that sort of thing,” Bradamont said.

  “Then there is a scion,” Iceni continued. “A scion is a formal designation of patronage. When someone is declared the scion of a high-ranking official, it says that anything that happens to the scion, any threat made to the scion, is the same as if it was done to the high-ranking patron. My office is identifying you to every citizen as a scion of Black Jack and a scion of both General Drakon and myself.”

  Iceni gave Bradamont a wry look. “There has probably never been a scion with that amount of firepower in her corner. Congratulations.”

  “Thank you, but that wasn’t necessary—”

  “Yes, it was,” Drakon said. “Everyone had to know that any attempt to harm you or mistreat you would be regarded in the exact same way as a personal attack on myself or President Iceni. That won’t keep you safe from anyone gunning for either of us, but it will stave off attempts by anyone tempted to settles scores from the war.”

  “It will also,” Iceni added, “ensure that you are treated appropriately to your rank. Anyone who insults you will know they are insulting us as well.” She brought out a comm unit and passed it to Bradamont. “This is yours. It is loaded with personal contact numbers for myself, General Drakon, and some of our high-ranking assistants. If you use this unit to call any of the official numbers it will automatically encrypt the conversation. That does not mean no one can intercept the signal or decipher what is being said. Never say anything confidential on this unit or in public. Save such conversations for face-to-face talks in secure environments.”

&nb
sp; “We’ve set up quarters for you at my command complex,” Drakon said. “There’s a suite there for visiting VIPs. It’s a lot more than an officer of your rank would normally get, but then you’re also sort of an ambassador. Having you inside the command complex perimeter will make security a lot easier.”

  Bradamont just nodded this time, looking at the military and civilian guards around them. Her thoughts couldn’t be read from her expression, but Drakon found himself wondering if this level of guards and security would have been found around comparable Alliance leaders. Probably. The Syndicate didn’t have an exclusive monopoly on crazies. But for someone much lower on the ladder like Bradamont, this amount of personal security must feel weird.

  They reached the access to the VIP dock, shedding most of the guards and all of the onlookers as they left the public areas. “Tell me,” Iceni said to Bradamont, “your impression of Kommodor Marphissa.”

  “She is talented and has a great deal of potential,” Bradamont said without hesitation. “Due to her rapid rise in rank, she has some experience to gain, but I have no doubt she will pick that up quickly.”

  “I understand that you witnessed the removal from command of Kapitan Toirac,” Iceni continued.

  “I did.”

  “What was your impression of Kapitan Toirac?”

  This time Bradamont did pause before speaking, each word coming out with thought behind it. “Promoted well above his level of competence. Unable to handle the responsibilities. Unwilling to address his weak areas. Now so embittered that I would not trust him in any position of authority.”

  “I see.” Iceni halted, causing the rest of them to stop walking as well, and studied Bradamont. “Did you discuss the matter with Kommodor Marphissa?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “And Kapitan-Leytenant Kontos? What did you think of him?”

  Bradamont smiled slightly. “He is impressive. He has a lot to learn, but I have no doubt he will pick everything up fast. He’s the closest thing to a natural I’ve ever met.”

  “A natural?” Iceni asked.

  Drakon answered. “Someone with an instinctive grasp for the right thing to do and how to do it. That was Colonel Rogero’s impression of Kontos as well.”

  Bradamont kept her expression controlled but her eyes went to Drakon as he said Rogero’s name.

  Iceni noticed that as well, raising an eyebrow at Drakon. “I will leave you here, Captain Bradamont. General Drakon and I are traveling by separate shuttles for security reasons. I have in hand a proposal from Kommodor Marphissa for a very hazardous mission. I want to talk to you about that soon. General, you will have to be at that meeting as well. The proposed mission will require some ground forces as security.”

  “Yes,” Bradamont said. “I do want to talk about that as soon as possible. But I don’t think it can be done now that the Syndic hypernet is gone.”

  “You didn’t hear? A freighter arrived via hypernet a few hours ago. Everything is working again.”

  Bradamont stared at Iceni. “You— The Syndicate Worlds can do that? Selectively shut off your hypernet?”

  “The Syndicate apparently can do it,” Drakon said. “But we can’t.” Iceni turned a reproachful look on him. He knew why and answered her unspoken rebuke. “Captain Bradamont needs to know that. She needs to tell the Alliance we still have a hypernet gate that is of great value to them and that we did not block Black Jack’s fleet from reaching other destinations.”

  Iceni thought about it for all of two seconds, then nodded. “You’re right, General. The arrival of that freighter came as a great shock to us, Captain Bradamont.”

  “I do need to get word of that back home as fast as I can,” Bradamont agreed. “Before you go, Madam President, I should deliver these to you and General Drakon.” She put a hand into one pocket, apparently oblivious to the way the remaining bodyguards focused intently on her motion, and brought out two data coins. “From Admiral Geary. These are reports on what we found in enigma space, Kick space, and Dancer space, as well as what information we have on each species.”

  Drakon took one of the discs. “These are identical?”

  “The discs? Yes, sir. One for each of you.”

  “How diplomatic,” Iceni commented, taking hers. “Are there any surprises on here?”

  “I don’t know,” Bradamont replied. “I know Admiral Geary already told you some things. He said to me that you are on the front lines of humanity’s contact with these species and therefore need to know as much as possible about them.”

  “A pity he did not allow some of our technicians to board the captured alien superbattleship,” Iceni said pointedly.

  Bradamont made an apologetic gesture with one hand. “Even our own techs haven’t been allowed on board. There’s a security force on Invincible, but we don’t dare touch anything until we get her back to Alliance space.”

  Drakon had to admit that the explanation made sense, but it was the same sort of excuse he would have offered to anyone who wanted to stick their nose in somewhere he didn’t want them to go. At least Black Jack is being polite when he tells us to go to hell. “Let me know about that meeting,” Drakon told Iceni, then led Bradamont into his shuttle.

  The guard at the entry ramp was doing her best not to stare at Bradamont, as was the shuttle pilot waiting inside. Drakon gestured for Bradamont to enter, then followed her into the passenger compartment, seating himself next to Bradamont.

  As the hatch sealed, she took a sudden breath. Glancing down, Drakon saw one hand tightly gripping her armrest. The last time she was locked in with someone like me she really was locked in. A prisoner. Now she’s back around the same kind of people, having put herself totally at our mercy. “Do you know what snakes are?” he asked.

  Bradamont nodded. “Both the reptile kind and the human variety.”

  “The human-variety snakes were almost completely eliminated in this star system. We’re hunting a few hidden remnants.”

  “Colonel Rogero told me.” She nodded again, still tense. “I hope you understand there is a difference between knowing that and accepting it.”

  “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 m
ind. “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.