THE next morning, feeling oddly as if she were hungover without having been drunk the night before, thus getting punishment without benefit of having done anything to deserve it, Iceni drank a breakfast malt to wash down some pain pills.
She sat at her desk, wondering where to begin. The battleship. The latest report from Kommodor Marphissa had come in forty-eight hours ago. There was a constant status feed as well, of course, but . . .
Iceni caught herself on the verge of sending a hotly worded message to Marphissa. The Kommodor had done nothing to earn a tongue-lashing.
But that man she had heard about last night, on the other hand. Buthol?
A quick query on her news terminal popped up a list of articles as well as opinion pieces written by Buthol himself.
Buthol wanted elections now. Buthol suspected the President of diverting funds and demanded a full accounting of tax revenues. Buthol argued that only a full, perfect democracy of one person, one vote, in which every important matter was decided by the people rather than representatives, would be in the best interests of everyone.
The news reports all agreed that Buthol had few followers yet but was attracting more and more attention with his speeches and essays.
Iceni read it all with growing anger. Who the hell does he think he is? Accusing me of corruption? Of wanting to be a dictator just because I won’t hand the mob control of this star system the instant someone like him demands it?
“Togo! In here now!”
He arrived with a speed that suggested her tone of voice had been unusually demanding. “Yes, Madam President.”
“Why the hell haven’t you told me about this Kater Buthol?”
Togo blinked, then checked his reader. “Ah. Yes. He has few followers. He is being watched.”
“He is getting a great deal of attention. He is personally attacking me.”
“Madam President, you instructed us to let the low-level elections proceed without interference—”
“Unless something said or done constituted a threat!” She glared at Togo. “Hasn’t this Kater Buthol broken any laws?”
Togo shook his head. “He has been very careful to tread just on the legal side of everything. You could order him arrested, but the charges would have to be based on fabricated evidence. I could have that evidence ready by this evening.”
“That won’t help! The last thing I need is to give this clown more attention by making him into some kind of martyr.” She sat back and made a disgusted gesture. “This Buthol is exactly the sort of problem I don’t need on my plate at the moment! Find a solution! That’s all.”
“Yes, Madam President.” Togo left with more swiftness than usual.
She spent the rest of the day burying herself in work and trying to catch up on the low-level elections, which were supposed to alleviate pressure among the citizens for change. It wasn’t at all clear that the elections were accomplishing that goal.
Most disturbing were the occasional suggestions that General Drakon would make a good president. That for the good of the star system, and with the looming threat of a Syndicate attack, a new leader might be needed who could deal with such dangers. Had Drakon arranged those whispers? That was worrisome. But not as worrisome as the possibility that the citizens were coming to feel that way on their own. Obviously, there was a need to raise her profile with the people. They needed to know who had won the battles here and at Kane, who had acquired the battleship, who had forgotten far more about mobile forces tactics than General Drakon had ever learned.
By the time Iceni went to sleep, she had worked up the outline for such a public-relations campaign.
* * *
THE next morning, she made the error of ordering a larger breakfast, only to almost choke on a bite of food as she scanned news reports tagged for her based on recent search activity.
Police report that last night political agitator and candidate for neighborhood representative Kater Buthol was the victim of a robbery in which he apparently fought with his assailant and was shot in the resulting struggle. Buthol died before police arrived on the scene.
Iceni stared at the news item, wondering why it felt not just surprising, but shocking. I can’t fault the timing. Now I won’t have to lose any more sleep over that oaf, and Togo can—
Togo.
What did I tell Togo yesterday? What did I say?
Something about finding a solution for Buthol?
Which Togo could have thought meant I wanted him to get rid of Buthol.
For once in my life, I didn’t want to do that. For once, I wanted to handle it right.
And I might have ordered his death anyway.
She sat looking at her display. Calling in Togo again would serve no purpose. He knew the drill. This wasn’t a routinely accepted thing like sending someone to a public firing squad for failing in their duty. Given the right excuse, anyone sufficiently low-ranking could be disposed of that way without any fuss. But not everyone who needed to be eliminated had committed an offense, and sometimes people who needed to be neutralized had powerful patrons. There were long-established ways of handling that to avoid any personal penalty for the action. If she asked Togo whether he had killed Buthol, or arranged for someone else to do it, he would deny it because that was what he would always do to give her deniability in the matter. She had not said, “Kill him.” Togo would not admit that he had killed him. How many times had they played that game to ensure that any trips to interrogation rooms operated by the ISS would prove fruitless for questioners?
Did you order him to be killed?
I did not tell anyone to kill him.
The subject registers truthful.
Why did it bother her that Buthol was possibly dead at her hand? That damned Marphissa and her speeches about protecting the people.
But it was also about protecting herself, and her people. I had meant to do something about that, to get assassination as a means of personnel management off the list of acceptable actions.
Maybe Drakon did it. Buthol said some bad things about him, too.
She hesitated, then called Drakon.
“Is something wrong?” he asked as soon as he saw her.
That was bad. She was so rattled that she was letting it show. “I was wondering, General, if there were any personnel let go in your office recently?” That code phrase was an old one, a subtle means of asking about assassinations.
Drakon took a while to answer. “No. Not recently,” he finally said.
Either he hadn’t ordered it, or he wouldn’t admit to it. She needed to talk to someone who would understand what had happened. But how could she admit to Drakon that she had possibly ordered a hit? Yes, CEOs ordering assassinations happened all the time, but it was still technically illegal even if a CEO ordered it. An admission of possible involvement would be evidence against her, handed to someone who could use that evidence to help gain total power in this star system for himself.
Had Malin told the truth about Drakon’s intentions? Dared she believe that?
If only that big, stupid ape hadn’t slept with Morgan. I could feel us getting closer, developing some sense of being able to trust each other a little—
A new thought arose, hitting her so abruptly that Iceni hoped her feelings didn’t once more reveal themselves to Drakon. Was that Morgan’s idea? Did she sense that I was feeling more comfortable with Drakon and used having sex with him as a means to shove a wedge between us? She must have known that word of that event would get to me somehow.
Is this part of Morgan’s game? For me to mistrust Drakon, to stop working things out with him because he couldn’t keep his pants on with her? But how could she be sure that I would hear something that I wouldn’t dismiss as rumor . . .
Malin told me.
Was Malin a dupe in this, someone who could be fooled into being her messenger? Or is Malin actually working with her? Was that incident on the orbiting platform merely theater, a preplanned event that would make it appear that seri
ously bad blood existed between Malin and Morgan so that no one would suspect them of working together?
But how did Togo miss signs of that kind of collaboration? He never told me—
You can’t trust anyone.
Anyone.
Iceni looked at Drakon, who was watching her and waiting for a response. Part of her, the instinctive part, told her to hold that man as far from her as possible and work at limiting his power and eventually neutralizing him completely. Drakon was the only one in the star system with the power to threaten her directly.
But what if that was the wrong answer? What if her only real chance was to invest a measure of the little trust she could spare in a man who was either a lunkhead dumb enough to sleep with an insane bitch or cynical enough not to care that he was breaking one of the few rules he himself had set and was risking his own position for a short period of pleasure.
Or he was being manipulated, despite his power, by those beneath him.
“Many CEOs make the mistake of worrying only about those above them,” a mentor had once confided to Iceni, “when they should be worrying about what those below them are up to. It doesn’t take a lot of strength to make someone stumble. All it takes is knowing when to drop a tiny obstacle in front of their foot. And who knows how to do that better than the people you might barely notice as they do your dirty work?”
“General Drakon.” I am going to regret this. I know I am. Just do it. It’s the last thing anyone will expect. “I would like to meet with you personally. As soon as possible. Neutral ground, no aides or assistants.”
He studied her, then nodded. “All right. The usual place? I can be there in half an hour.”
“I’ll see you there.”
* * *
AFTER the conference room door sealed, Drakon sat down, watching her and waiting.
“I’m going to do something stupid,” Iceni said.
“Really? That sort of thing seems to be going around,” Drakon said in a half-mocking, half-bitter way. “I hope it’s not as stupid as what I did.”
“I’m going to tell you that I may have just killed a man with a carelessly worded statement.” Iceni explained what had happened, then waited for his reaction.
“Why did you tell me that?” Drakon asked. “You know what I could do with that information.”
“I am . . . trusting . . . that you will not.”
He smiled for the first time that she could recall since his return from Taroa. “You’re right. That’s stupid. Fortunately for you, I’m even stupider. I don’t want anyone rummaging through the skeletons in my closet, so I’m not going to send anyone to go looking in yours. That’s the kind of precedent that can bite back hard. As for what happened, or might have happened, to Buthol . . .” Drakon shrugged. “Don’t lose any sleep over it. If you made a mistake, then you know what not to say next time.”
Could he possibly understand? “Under what possible interpretation is a mistake that kills someone acceptable?”
Drakon looked away from her. “President Iceni—”
“Call me Gwen, dammit.”
He seemed briefly taken aback. “All right. Gwen, do you have any idea how many battles I’ve been in and how many little mistakes I’ve made? And how many soldiers died because of those mistakes?”
“That is different. You were trying to do your job, you were learning—”
“It doesn’t feel that way. Not if you’re worth a damn.” This time Drakon appeared surprised at having gruffly admitted feeling like that.
“Then you do understand. Forget what we’ve been taught. Forget all the lessons we learned on our way to the top of the Syndicate hierarchy. Is this what we want? The ability for someone in power to kill on a whim, or by mistake?”
She had expected some argument, expected defensive anger, but Drakon instead sat silent for a long while before replying.
“Neither of us is perfect,” he finally said. “Both of us are human enough to make more mistakes than we should.”
“Then should there be limits on our ability to make those kinds of mistakes?”
Drakon stared at her this time. “Is this tied in with what you were saying about changing the courts?”
“Partly.”
“What is it, exactly, that you are asking me?”
Iceni took a deep breath. “Will you agree to order no more executions or assassinations? Not unless we both decide that is necessary in each individual case?”
Another pause. “Did you discover who tried to kill Rogero?”
“No. But I’m wondering if someone else, someone who thinks that sort of tactic is run-of-the-mill business, someone who might work for you or for me, might have made that decision on their own.”
“Because that’s how things are done.” Drakon made it a statement, not a question.
“And who knows who their next target might be?” Iceni added. “I want to know, if someone goes after me, that you did not order it. We’ve got the start of something here. We’ve kept this star system stable, we have the potential for alliances with two other star systems, and we can keep growing if we aren’t destroyed. External threats are one thing. We have little control over that. But internal threats can destroy us, too. You and I have to place real trust in each other, and mutually agreeing to cease extralegal killings can be an important part of establishing such trust.”
“Why should you believe me if I say I won’t order killings?” Drakon demanded.
“Because I think you’re worth a damn, General Drakon.”
Why the hell did I say that?
But after a moment he smiled. “I’ll make you a deal, then. I will agree not to order any more executions or assassinations without your specific approval, and I’ll reemphasize to my people that they are not to conduct such operations on their own. In exchange . . .”
“Yes?”
“Call me Artur instead of General Drakon. When we’re alone, at least.”
“I don’t know. That’s a big concession,” Iceni said. “Who else calls you Artur?”
“No one. Not for a long time.”
“Then I will agree.” But if you sleep with that female again, you’re going to be “General Drakon” full-time.
Before she could say anything else, her comm unit pulsed urgently. She could hear Drakon’s doing the same. “What is it?” Iceni snapped. “This had better be an emergency.”
“It is,” Togo said. “Update your system display.”
Drakon, having listened to his own message, was already entering the command.
The image of the Midway Star System that hung above the table flickered for a moment.
“Hell,” Drakon said.
At the hypernet gate, new ships had arrived. Iceni read the identifications glowing next to them. “A Syndicate flotilla.”
“And they’ve got a battleship,” Drakon said.
“So do we,” Iceni replied.
“Their battleship probably works.”
Iceni couldn’t think of an answer to that. “Six heavy cruisers, too. How many light cruisers? Four. And ten HuKs.” Even without the Syndicate battleship, that would present a tough problem for Iceni’s warships since she lacked an operational battleship of her own. “They want this star system back badly.”
“We’re receiving a message from the flotilla,” Drakon said, tapping another control.
A window opened before them, showing a familiar person in Syndicate CEO garb. “This is CEO Boyens,” he announced. “To former CEOs Iceni and Drakon. I have been sent here to return this star system to Syndicate Worlds’ control.
“You’re both guilty of treason. If you want to make a deal, you’d better make me a very good offer and make it soon.” Boyens offered them a standard CEO smile with a visible trace of smugness, then the brief message ended.
After a long moment of silence, Drakon glanced at Iceni. “Any suggestions?”
She shook her head. “Appealing to the better nature of CEO Boyens is unlikely to accomplish a
nything. He’s far from the worst Syndicate official I ever dealt with, but he’s very ambitious. What do we have to offer him?”
“As a bribe?” Drakon asked. “The most valuable things in this star system are you and me. If you want, we can flip a coin to see which of us offers up the other.”
“He doesn’t need to settle for one of us,” Iceni said. “Not with a force of that size. What we need—” She broke off as a new alarm sounded, this with a different note, a special note engraved in her memory. “No.”
Drakon was eyeing the display, his expression even grimmer than before. “Yes. The enigmas are back.”
The Syndicate force had arrived hours ago at the hypernet gate. The enigma force, coming in at the jump point from Pele, had also been in-system for a few hours, the light from its arrival only just reaching this planet. Boyens would be seeing them at about the same time, and realizing that his plans for reconquering the star system would have to change.
Iceni watched the symbols marking alien warships multiplying rapidly. “It’s a strong assault force,” she said, surprised that her voice sounded so steady. “They’re not here to just hit-and-run.”
“That’s enough enigma warships to wipe out the human presence in this star system,” Drakon agreed. “At least we can see them now that we’ve eliminated the alien worms in our sensor systems, but where the hell is Black Jack? What did he do? Stir them up and move on, leaving us to catch it when the enigmas retaliated for having their space invaded?”
A sensation of cold emptiness filled Iceni as she gazed at the display. “Or perhaps the enigmas proved to be more than even Black Jack could deal with. If the enigmas wiped out Black Jack’s fleet, what chance do we have?”
Drakon surprised her by smiling, then she realized the expression was more the snarl of a wolf at bay than anything to do with humor. “Let’s call Boyens and tell him he’d better ally himself with us if he wants to be a hero.”
“And if he doesn’t want to be a hero? If he’d rather run and live?”
“We die at the hands of the enigmas. If they’ve got hands.” Drakon paused, then shrugged. “Of course, with the odds we’re facing, we’ll all die regardless of whatever Boyens does. But he might help us buy a little more time.”
The Lost Stars: Tarnished Knight Page 38