Jack Campbell - Perilous Shield

Drakon’s expression hardened. “While he was getting his fleet blown away and stirring up the enigmas to attack us again, you mean?”

She found herself defending the Alliance admiral despite how absurd the idea would have been less than a year ago. “We don’t know if the enigmas would have come back anyway. And we don’t know that Black Jack’s fleet was destroyed.”

Malin frowned as he received a report over his link, then faced Drakon. “General, one of our satellites brushed against the edge of a tight-beam communication from this planet aimed toward the Syndicate flotilla.”

She should pretend to be focusing her suspicions elsewhere, but Iceni couldn’t help herself. Her eyes went to Drakon, and found him looking at her. Did you send that transmission? their eyes challenged each other.

Drakon shook his head in answer to the unspoken question. “The snakes must still have agents active on this planet,” he said.

“Yes,” Iceni agreed. “The transmission did not originate from any source known to me. Did we get the origin of the beam localized?”

“No, Madam President,” Malin replied. “The contact was too fleeting, then the beam cut off. It was a burst transmission, so whoever it was could have sent an encyclopedia of information in the brief time it was active.”

“We should still be able to get some indication of where it came from,” Morgan insisted.

Malin gave her a bland look. “Initial analysis narrowed it down to this half of this hemisphere of this planet.”

“And I suppose you’re happy with that level of incompetence?” Morgan said, her tone growing fiercer.

“I’m willing to accept real-world limitations but have no intention of being satisfied with this level of analysis,” Malin replied, maintaining that indifferent expression, doubtless knowing it would further provoke Morgan.

Drakon made a small gesture, and both colonels fell silent even though Morgan had clearly been ready to fire another verbal volley. “I want you two to check the data the satellite picked up. Do it independently and see if either of you can get a better idea of the signal’s location of origin.”

Both officers saluted, Malin returning to a nearby terminal and Morgan walking quickly out of the command center.

“What?” Drakon asked, having noticed how Iceni was regarding him.

“I watched how you handled that,” Iceni said. “I admit I wonder why you keep those two as assistants despite their unquestioned individual skills. But then I saw how you can use their rivalry. If anyone can narrow down the place where that signal originated, it will be one of those two because they’re very good at what they do, and neither one wants the other to succeed where they have failed.”

“That’s pretty much the idea,” Drakon agreed. “They also backstop me and each other. If there’s a flaw in my plans or thinking, one of them will spot it and tell me before the other does. If one of them is missing something, the other will catch it. It makes for some drama, but they both know when to knock it off.”

“Do they?” Iceni asked.

Perhaps something about her tone made it clear she was referring to Morgan because Drakon reddened slightly. “No one is perfect,” he muttered, before turning to study the main display intently.

Iceni wondered if he was talking about Morgan, himself, or her. Had Drakon’s words been an oblique apology, a criticism of her, or a defiant defense of himself?

Why do I care? It’s not like there aren’t much more important things to worry about.

On the display, the Syndicate flotilla and the enigma attack force remained passive, giving no clues as to their intentions. It was very odd how hard it could be to deal with a lack of action.

Twenty-one hours after the arrival of the enigma force, new alerts sounded in the command center. On this part of the planet, it was nearly midnight, but Iceni took only moments to reach the main room, finding Drakon already there.

“What is it?” she asked, trying to reconcile the symbols appearing on the display with her own expectations. But those symbols stubbornly refused to make sense until Drakon suddenly laughed harshly.

“Your hero Black Jack is back.”

She blinked, the symbols abruptly reordering themselves in her mind and finally becoming clear. “The Alliance fleet. The enigmas didn’t destroy it after all.”

“They took out a big chunk of it,” Drakon growled, one hand waving toward the display. “All I’m seeing is battle cruisers, light cruisers, and destroyers, and those numbers are down from what Black Jack left here with.”

Iceni stared, her eyes running from totals to individual ship symbols. “None of the battleships? None of the heavy cruisers? The enigmas hurt that fleet badly.”

Drakon frowned. “How could a mobile force lose just the battleships and heavy cruisers in total?”

“If they needed to escape,” Iceni explained in a voice she could tell had gone cold, her memory conjuring up dark recollections of some events she had witnessed during her time serving with the Syndicate mobile forces. “The battleships are slower, but massive. They form a rear guard, holding off pursuit. In the worst case, they sacrifice themselves so swifter ships can escape to fight another day. I suppose the heavy cruisers stayed with the battleships.”

“Damn.” The one word from Drakon fell heavily, carrying a weight of meaning. “I know how that works in the ground forces. It’s a very hard thing to demand of people, to tell them to fight to the death so others can get away.”

Iceni shook her head, her eyes still on the display. “Their auxiliaries aren’t here, either.”

“Auxiliaries?”

“The repair ships the Alliance uses to accompany their fleets. And the troop transports they had aren’t here, either. The enigmas must have gotten them, too, because they weren’t swift enough to escape.”

“Is it possible,” Drakon asked, “that we’re interpreting this wrong?”

“There’s a way to check.” Iceni took a few steps toward the primary control console. “Give us close-up views of those Alliance ships,” she ordered the operator.

Large virtual windows appeared before her and Drakon, in which every detail of the far-distant ships could be plainly seen. Those ships were four and a half light-hours away, having arrived at the same jump point from which the enigmas had come. Each light-hour was a bit more than a billion kilometers, making the distance to those ships over four and a half billion kilometers. But optics in orbit around this world could see across space with crystal-clear precision. Every detail on the Alliance warships stood out cleanly; so sharp were the images that it was difficult to remember that what they were seeing was light from such distant objects.

“Look at the damage visible on many of those ships,” Iceni pointed out. “They’ve seen hard fighting.” She paused. “Let’s see where they go. Where they went,” she amended. They were seeing the Alliance ships as they had been four and a half hours before now. What had they done afterward? Had Black Jack taken the remnants of his fleet on a swift course for the hypernet gate and a swift journey home? Or would the Alliance warships aim for one of the other jump points that Midway boasted? If they headed for the hypernet gate, they would have to get past the enigmas—“That’s what they’ve been waiting for.”

“What’s that?” Drakon asked.

“The enigmas,” Iceni explained. “You were right. They were waiting for Black Jack. They’re sitting between the jump point for Pele and our hypernet gate. In order for the Alliance fleet to reach the gate, they’ll have to fight their way past the enigmas.”