Jack Campbell - Perilous Shield

The large Reserve Flotilla guarding this region of Syndicate space had lacked any admitted purpose because only a very few of the most high-ranking Syndicate officials were advised of the existence of an intelligent nonhuman species beyond Midway. So little was known of this race that they were called the enigmas, but they had pushed the once-expanding boundaries of the Syndicate Worlds back to Midway. Syndicate ships in the border regions would sometimes disappear without a trace, but enigma ships were never seen, even during the long-distance negotiations that consisted mainly of enigma demands.

Then the Reserve Flotilla had been called away, ordered by the government at Prime to confront the Alliance that under Black Jack Geary had shattered the other mobile forces of the Syndicate Worlds. The Reserve Flotilla had gone, had met Geary, and had not returned. Months later, as the enigmas pressed to take over this star system as well, Black Jack had showed up here, unthinkably far from Alliance space, with the news that the war was over. After expending countless lives and uncountable resources, the Syndicate Worlds had lost the war it had begun.

Already tottering from the human and material costs of the war, the Syndicate Worlds began coming apart in the aftermath. Drakon and Iceni had led the revolt here, destroying the hated Internal Security Service presence in this star system. The crumbling of the Syndicate Worlds had also impacted neighboring stars. Kane had descended into anarchy as the Syndicate rulers fled and workers’ committees feuded. Taroa had experienced a three-way civil war, which only a military intervention led by Drakon had resolved in favor of the Free Taroa faction.

Now the Syndicate Worlds was back with a flotilla to reconquer Midway, the enigmas were back with the intention of taking this star system for themselves, Black Jack’s fleet had returned battered and apparently still fighting the enigmas but maybe or maybe not the Syndicate flotilla, the Midway Flotilla was going to help Black Jack’s fleet unless it found Black Jack doing something it shouldn’t assist, and the intentions of those six new ships were a mystery.

In some ways, space combat could be pretty complicated.

“Another front-row seat as we watch how Black Jack leads his forces,” Drakon commented.

“That is no small thing,” Iceni replied.

But he found it hard to stay engaged while watching depictions of two forces “rushing” toward each other at what seemed to be a snail’s pace because of the scale of the battlefield. Especially since whatever happened when they met had already happened. Eventually, the light from that event would reach here, hours after the actual clash.

Drakon’s thoughts strayed to the problem of finding out who had sent a message to the Syndicate flotilla from this command center. The software governing the many functions of the systems here was riddled with subprograms, worms, and sentries, many inserted by official actors in the name of monitoring activity, security, safety, and reliability. Or, as the workers call it, Aim the Blame. They know if anything happens, the people in charge want to have enough data to be able to pin the fault on whichever scapegoat they choose.

But Drakon knew there was also a welter of unapproved, unofficial, and outright illegal subprograms, worms, and Trojan horses woven through software that had become too complex to ever be purged of invaders. He had made use of such things himself at times in order to learn things he wasn’t supposed to know, or to accomplish things he wasn’t supposed to do. Another CEO had once speculated to him that half of whatever the Syndicate Worlds got done was the result of working around the system. And I told him I thought half was way too low a figure. There’s irony for you. For all that we disliked, or hated, the Syndicate system, we’re the ones who kept it going by finding ways to get the job done even when that system tried to make it impossible.

Right now, Malin and Morgan were both using their own methods to dig through the morass of software to spot the signs of their quarry. If someone had sent a message to the Syndicate flotilla using the comm systems in this command center, then there would be some trace of that activity somewhere. Like hunters nosing through the underbrush in search of a bent twig or a twisted stem, Malin and Morgan would find some sign. Once they had one hint of their quarry, one or both of them would use that to find other tracks. The tracks would form a trail, and the quarry would be run to earth. The only unknowns were how long it would take and whether both Malin and Morgan would nail the prey, or if one of them would manage to run it down first.

Iceni’s right-hand man Togo had come back, leaning close to Iceni and whispering some report to her. It must have been something sensitive that he wouldn’t want to risk being intercepted or overheard on even a supposedly secure comm circuit, but Drakon was certain Togo hadn’t yet found the source of the transmission.

I don’t doubt that Togo is good. Iceni wouldn’t have him around, and so close to her, if he wasn’t very capable. But Togo isn’t driven by the intense rivalry between Malin and Morgan. That rivalry can be a real pain to deal with, but it’s also invaluable a lot of the time.

I wonder what does drive Togo? That could be important to know.

“General,” Malin said in a way that immediately brought Drakon out of his contemplation of Togo and Iceni’s relationship.

Had Malin won the race already?

But as Drakon looked at Malin, he saw that the colonel wasn’t displaying triumph. Instead, Malin was looking toward the entrance to the command center.

Morgan had come strolling in. She didn’t appear to be in any hurry, moving with the leisurely certainty of a panther closing in on trapped prey. One of her hands had reached down and was in the process of drawing the hand weapon holstered on one hip.

And Morgan was walking straight toward President Iceni.

Drakon moved forward, but not as fast as Togo. Iceni’s bodyguard/assistant swung about with startling speed, coming between Morgan and Iceni. A series of moves and countermoves occurred almost too fast to follow, ending with Morgan and Togo pointing weapons directly at each other’s faces at point-blank range, while their free hands were locked together off to one side, each straining for advantage.

“Hold it!” Drakon said, the volume of his words low but the intensity strong enough to freeze everyone within earshot, which included Morgan and Togo. Under other circumstances, it might have been comical to see all of the workers sitting completely rigid at their consoles, afraid to even breathe. But, right now, Drakon could see no humor in anything. “Stand down, Colonel Morgan.”

She took a deep breath, her eyes not leaving Togo’s face, then Morgan stepped back, breaking contact with a graceful motion as if executing a ballet move. Her weapon’s barrel lowered in a smooth arc, ending with it pointing at the floor.

President Iceni, her face impassive but her eyes revealing surprise, worry, and anger, spoke in a quiet voice carrying the same power as Drakon’s had. “Back away.”

Togo, his expression showing nothing, took one pace backward, his weapon disappearing into concealment in his clothing as rapidly as it had appeared.

“What the hell’s going on?” Drakon asked Morgan.

Her eyes went to him, measuring his anger. Morgan didn’t try to push things when she knew he was not in any mood for that. She answered with professional detachment, putting no feeling into her words, her expression similarly betraying no emotions. “Sir, you asked me to find the source of that message to the snakes. I found it.”