The Lost Stars

by Jack Campbell

  “Good.” She was taking deep breaths, trying to control her heartbeat, which had begun racing.

  “Hundreds of messages, alerts, and bulletins in news channels and other media about the fighting are being held up by the censoring software.”

  “Keep doing that until we find out what’s going on,” Iceni ordered.

  The officer looked to one side, his expression going from concerned to horrified. “Dozens of unconfirmed media reports saying that General Drakon is dead are coming in and being blocked from further transmission, Madam President.”

  Dead? No. Impossible. Not him. She inhaled slowly again. “Hold those as well. I want to know everything as fast as we learn it.”

  “But if General Drakon is—”

  “He’s not dead!”

  The officer stared, then nodded. “I understand, Madam President. I will send a constant data feed to your desk.”

  “Get it going,” Iceni said, her voice under control again. As the officer’s image vanished, her hand went to her comm unit, then hesitated. If he’s alive, and people are shooting at him, he doesn’t need distractions.

  Where the hell is Togo?

  THE female bodyguard died before she could get off a shot, as did two other guards, but her warning had given Drakon the extra instant he needed to dive for cover and avoid subsequent shots aimed at him. Not that there was much cover in this open area, by order of the Syndicate bureaucracy.

  Drakon sprawled behind the body of one of his guards, his weapon in his hand, trying to spot some of the locations where the shots were coming from as solid projectiles and energy bursts tore holes in the very-carefully-maintained turf near him. Even under these circumstances, a small part of his mind couldn’t help recalling certain bosses he had suffered under who would have been far more upset about the damage to the grass than the deaths of the bodyguards.

  Two meters away, Morgan, her face a mask of rage, was lying near another dead guard, her weapon out, one hand supporting her weapon hand as she fired with steady, careful accuracy. Other defensive fire was going out, the surviving bodyguards and the sentries at the entrance to the headquarters hurling shots at the places among the low buildings surrounding the plaza from which the attackers were firing.

  Spotting the location of one attacker, Drakon aimed and squeezed off three carefully spaced shots. It’s been about fifteen seconds since they opened fire, another part of his mind calculated with cold precision. The reaction security force inside headquarters will be out here within another forty-five seconds.

  The attackers had ceased aiming at the guards and now were concentrating their fire on Drakon. He wondered if forty-five seconds would be too long. Bad enough to be the target of so many attackers when in battle armor, but right now all he had were the defenses in his uniform, which while sufficient for some protection would not stop the sort of barrage that was directed at him.

  Morgan glanced back at him, sizing up his situation and his peril in an instant, her eyes dark and wide.

  She bolted to her feet, instantly becoming the most prominent target on the plaza.

  “Morgan!” Drakon shouted, firing rapidly at a couple of spots from which shots were coming. “Get down!”

  She ignored his command, not just charging furiously ahead but also screaming defiance and firing as she ran to generate the maximum amount of attention. Morgan could move like a ghost when she wanted to. Right now, she was doing all that she could to attract the fire of the attackers to her, and away from Drakon. Morgan was dodging as she moved to make shots aimed at her more difficult, but was still hideously exposed. In full battle armor, such a maneuver would be very risky. With Morgan wearing no armor at all, her charge was insane.

  Unable to stop her, Drakon took advantage of the distraction Morgan had provided to rise to one knee and aim, ignoring the shots still aimed at him that tore into the turf or zipped past his head. His next shot caused a figure to fall. He shifted targets, firing several more times.

  Soldiers were spilling out of the headquarters entrance and secondary exits, menacing in armor, carrying combat weapons, and searching for targets.

  The remaining fire aimed at Drakon dropped off so rapidly that he knew the attackers must be bolting for safety.

  Morgan had reached her objective, miraculously not having been hit. She leaped over a railing, one hand staying locked on the top rail to help her pivot in midair and come down on those sheltered behind the ankle-high wall topped by the open fence. Drakon saw her weapon firing and Morgan’s free hand rising to strike down viciously.

  “General!” The captain in charge of the response force and a dozen of his soldiers raced into place around Drakon, forming an armored perimeter.

  Drakon pointed, speaking coolly and clearly. “Shots came from there, there, there, and there. Colonel Morgan has taken out whoever fired from that location.”

  “We’ve got troops in full pursuit, sir.”

  Drakon heard the sirens from headquarters cut off but heard other sirens approaching. “There will be police responding to this gunfire. Make sure our troops don’t engage them by accident.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  Drakon looked around, realizing that firing had completely ceased. The soldiers forming an armored wall about him moved outward as they were reinforced, leaving him standing in a small, circular, open area where the grass smoked in dozens of places that marked the impacts of shots.

  Two of the soldiers moved slightly, opening a temporary gap between them. Morgan came strolling through that gap. She was dragging a limp body with her by one leg, the body’s torso and head thumping along over the ground. Reaching Drakon, Morgan dropped the leg and stood by her trophy, grinning wolfishly.

  “Roh,” Drakon said, “if you ever—”

  “You’re all right, General?” Morgan interrupted, her chest still heaving from exertion, her eyes alight with something more feral than adrenaline-fueled energy.

  “I’m fine. That was insane.”

  She grinned wider. “I got a medical waiver saying I’m good enough for government work, General. I had to draw their fire.”

  “No, you didn’t,” Drakon snapped.

  “Yes, sir, I did,” Morgan said with an intensity that surprised him. “Nobody’s going to kill you if I can stop it. And I got us a prisoner.”

  “How many did you see?” Drakon asked, deciding not to further berate Morgan in public, not that his words seemed to be having any impact on her. He also knew that she was very likely right. If she hadn’t drawn some of the fire aimed at him, he wouldn’t have made it until the soldiers had arrived.

  “Two,” Morgan said nonchalantly. “The other one at that spot is dead.”

  Shaking his head, Drakon knelt to examine the man. “He’s not military.”

  “Nah. Civilian. He had a suicide belt on, but I left that with his buddy. I can’t wait to see what this guy says under interrogation.”

  “Me, too.” Drakon jerked back as the limp body suddenly jolted, then went slack in a different manner than before. In the near distance, two explosions resounded at nearly the same moment, the crashes so close together that they nearly merged into one blast that echoed from nearby walls.

  Morgan scowled. “Someone set off those suicide belts.” She knelt as well, peeling back one eyelid on her former prisoner. “Looks like brain-bake nanos. The same someone who triggered the belts figured out we had this guy and activated a backup method of keeping him quiet.”

  “Damn. We’ve still got two bodies.”

  “One body, boss,” Morgan pointed out. “And parts of another.”

  “All right. There should be enough parts left for some identification. Let’s find out who they both are, so the police can go talk to their friends before the friends can go underground.” He stood up, grimacing at the sight of the dead bodyguards. “Somebody besides those two you took care
of is going to pay a price for this.”

  “Say the word and name the target,” Morgan said, her grin fully exposing her canines.

  His comm unit buzzed in a particular pattern. Drakon pulled it out. “Here.”

  “Artur?” Iceni sounded very worried. Most of him felt good about that, but part of him couldn’t help wondering if it was because a plan of hers might have misfired. “Are you hurt?”

  “I’m fine, but I lost three guards.”

  “What happened? All I heard was a firefight. Someone tried to flood the media with reports you were dead.”

  “Did they?” Drakon asked. “Can you trace those back to their source?”

  “We’re trying. Did you get any of them?”

  “Two, at least. One was alive, but he had remote-suicide nanos in him. Somebody is definitely playing for keeps.”

  A pause, then Iceni spoke again. “Is there anything you need from me?”

  “Just make sure the police and my troops don’t knock heads. I have a feeling the attackers who took off have already vanished into the woodwork.”

  “I’ll do that. Take care of yourself.”

  Drakon put away his comm unit, noticing that Morgan was looking down at the dead attacker with an inquiring gaze. “See something?” he asked.

  “Who really wants you out of the way?” Morgan answered him with a question of her own.

  “Besides whatever snakes remain in this star system? You tell me.”

  “Madam President.” Morgan nodded toward the dead man. “Who has access to that kind of nano? And those kind of weapons?”

  “The snakes,” Drakon said patiently.

  “They’re not the only ones.” She used her toe to push back one sleeve and expose the man’s forearm. “See that?”

  It was impossible to miss. “A labor-camp mark.”

  “How many citizens who spent time in a labor camp are going to have anything to do with snakes?”

  He didn’t have any answer to that.

  COLONEL Malin had been extremely upset when he returned to headquarters, making up for his absence when Drakon was attacked with a whirlwind of activity. “The police have hauled in every known associate of the two dead men,” he told Drakon. They were in a secure conference room, along with Morgan.

  Malin brought up an image on the display, showing every shot fired during the engagement. “From an analysis of the firing patterns, they initially aimed for your guards, General, then, after the first volley, shifted their attack to you and Colonel Morgan. That split in their targeting is what kept you from being hit, sir. For the first several seconds, only half the available weapons were firing at you.”

  Drakon glared at the image, then at Malin. “Colonel Morgan drew their fire deliberately.”

  “Yes, sir,” Malin agreed, while Morgan smirked at him. “But there were a lot of shots being aimed at her before she did that, almost as many as were fired at you.”

  The implications of that were pretty obvious. “Colonel Morgan was a primary target, too? Why?”

  “I believe, sir, that the attackers targeted her in error.”

  Morgan, leaning back in her seat with one foot on the table, her leg extended in a way guaranteed to draw the eye, grinned. “You’re just jealous.”

  “Not at all,” Malin said. “I’m certain they thought you were someone else.”

  “Who else could she have been?” Drakon demanded.

  “It was widely known that you met the new Alliance liaison officer on the main orbiting facility, and that she left in company with you and President Iceni. President Iceni’s shuttle landed, and she was seen leaving it alone. Your shuttle landed in a secure area, but one visible to long-distance snooping that would have identified a woman leaving the shuttle with you.”

  “They thought I was walking Captain Bradamont around? Morgan doesn’t look anything like Bradamont.”

  Malin gestured toward Morgan. “A wig, a uniform change, some other cosmetics, and their physical builds are close enough that an observer could conclude that the Alliance officer was the one accompanying you.”

  “They thought I was that Alliance bitch?” Morgan asked. “Now I’m insulted.”

  “Colonel Morgan . . .” Drakon began.

  “Pardon me, sir,” Morgan replied. “I will endeavor to avoid using such language about our new friend and ally in the future.”

  “We have IDs on the individuals Colonel Morgan took out,” Malin continued, bending his head briefly in Morgan’s direction. “They both belong to an extreme group called The People’s Word, which wants immediate, full democracy.”

  Drakon scowled at that. “They want to elect all their leaders now?”

  “No, sir. They don’t want any leaders. They want all decisions to be made by direct vote.”

  Morgan’s laughter echoed scornfully from the walls. “Oh, yeah, that’ll work.”

  “For once, I agree with Colonel Morgan,” Malin said. “However, the attackers’ affiliation with The People’s Word raises a big question. Their philosophy could explain their attack on you, General. It does not explain why they would target an Alliance officer.”

  “They’d want that Alliance presence here, wouldn’t they?” Drakon asked, rubbing his chin.

  “At the very least, they would regard her as sympathetic to their own agenda,” Malin agreed.

  Morgan was pretending to examine her knife, testing the edge. “Where did these People’s Weird guys get the weapons they used to try to kill us?”

  “You think there was a deal?” Drakon asked.

  “Yes, sir.” Morgan balanced her knife, its point on her forefinger tip. “Somebody offered them the weapons to kill you in return for their agreeing to also take out the Alliance . . . woman.”

  “That could be so,” Malin agreed.

  “Or,” Morgan continued, “they planned to take out the woman in addition to you to make it look like an anti-Alliance hit that just happened to take you in as well.”

  Malin glanced at Drakon. “Sir, I think we do have to assume you were both targets until we learn more.”

  “Where were you, anyway?” Morgan asked, flipping her knife in one hand and catching it by the hilt.

  “I was running down leads about the snakes, per General Drakon’s orders.”

  Drakon nodded. “I knew where he was. Colonel Malin is not a suspect.”

  “What about our President and her hatchet man Togo?”

  “I don’t believe that President Iceni was involved,” Drakon said.

  “With all due respect, sir,” Morgan said, “don’t believe isn’t the same as knowing.”

  “I’m aware of that.” He must have made that statement with extra force because Morgan raised an eyebrow at him. “Colonel Malin, I want you to check on any possible connection between the President’s staff and the attempt to kill Colonel Morgan and me.”

  “General?” Morgan said, her tone playful again. “What if they targeted you and me knowing it was me? Who would want to do that?” She smiled at Malin.

  “Do you have any proof?” Drakon said.

  “Not yet.”

  “Nothing happens to anyone until you get proof, show me the proof, and get clear, unequivocal orders about what to do. Is that clear, Colonel Morgan?”

  “Yes, sir.” She sat up, her eyes still on Malin, the knife now unmoving in her hand. “I’ll get proof.”

  ICENI watched Captain Bradamont enter the room and stand before the long table behind which she and Drakon sat. Bradamont was on unfamiliar terrain, but she looked and acted as if she were in the most well-known and secure of environments. She is a dangerous woman. Is that all the code name Mantis referred to, or is there more that I haven’t seen yet? “Kommodor Marphissa has proposed that we undertake a long and hazardous mission. She said she did so on the basis of your information and
recommendations,” Iceni said.

  “That is correct,” Bradamont replied.

  “I won’t play games with you, Captain. You know your presence here is valuable to us. You also surely know that your presence here creates some problems for us.”

  “That was made very clear to me soon after I arrived,” Bradamont said, her eyes going to General Drakon where he sat next to Iceni. “I am sorry for the deaths that occurred in what might have been an attempted attack on me.”

  Iceni made a short, angry gesture. “The motives, and targets, involved in that attack are still being investigated. But the incident does highlight our most critical concern. We cannot afford to be seen as lackeys to Admiral Geary.”

  “Admiral Geary knows nothing of this proposal, Madam President.”

  “You are talking about what we know. I am talking about what others will perceive.” Iceni tapped her data pad. “I have gone through Kommodor Marphissa’s proposal. She makes a good case for the benefits that could accrue to us from recovering the survivors of the Reserve Flotilla. She pays less attention to the potential risks, however.”

  Bradamont shook her head slightly. “I have not seen the proposal myself. I don’t deny there are risks involved. There are ways to minimize those risks.”

  “Yes, I know.” Iceni kept her expression nonrevealing as she turned to glance at the readout. “The Kommodor proposes to minimize the risks by taking two heavy cruisers, half of what we have, plus four light cruisers and six Hunter-Killers. Plus six freighters. Twelve warships and their crews, as well as the Kommodor commanding the flotilla that defends this star system. This is a huge investment for us.”

  “The return, Madam President, would be even larger,” Bradamont said. “Admiral Geary asked me to suggest anything that could strengthen the defenses of this star system. You need those trained personnel, Madam President.”

  Iceni wagged one remonstrative forefinger at Bradamont. “Never tell someone in charge what they need, Captain. I’ll decide what I need. I do admit there is a strong case to be made for the benefits to be gained from recovering those personnel. However, if they return to find this star system reconquered by the Syndicate, we will gain no benefits at all.”