Jack Campbell - Perilous Shield

Iceni arrived with a couple of bodyguards, whom she told to wait outside before entering. She looked around, grimacing. “I have no fond memories of this room.”

“Me, neither,” Drakon agreed, gesturing to Colonel Malin to close the door and remain outside. “But the one place on this planet guaranteed to be without recording or listening devices is this office.”

“Ironic, isn’t it?” Iceni said. She glanced at the desk and Hardrad’s former chair, shook her head, then sat down in one of the comfortable chairs arrayed about a small table to one side of the office. “The snakes bugged every place they could except the office of their boss.”

“Snake CEOs don’t want anyone to know what they’ve done, or ordered,” Drakon observed, taking a seat opposite Iceni. “What happened?”

She eyed him for a few seconds before replying. “Someone tried to kill me. Or someone tried to make it look like someone tried to kill me.”

Drakon’s face went cold and hard. Inside, he felt the same way. “An assassination attempt? Aimed at you?”

“There was a biometric trigger on the bomb.”

He could feel warmth rushing to his face now, anger replacing the coldness. “I’ll— Hold on. You said someone might have tried to make it look like an assassination attempt?”

“Possibly.” Iceni watched him, looking puzzled. “You are a dilemma, General. Let me be frank. The bomb aimed at me contained military-tagged directional explosives.”

“What?” She kept throwing revelations at him, and it was taking time to absorb each new one. “Military-tagged?” The implications hit, and his anger grew. “Someone tried to implicate me in it? Someone wanted you to think I authorized that?”

“You didn’t?” “No!”

The vehemence of his reply surprised him, but Iceni just gazed back at him speculatively. “What about members of your staff? Someone close to you?”

“Absolutely not,” Drakon said. “You mean Colonel Morgan, don’t you?”

“Among other possibilities.”

“It wasn’t Morgan,” Drakon said, “because if it had been her, you would be dead. How did the bomb get spotted?”

“Someone detected it before I sat down.”

“Lucky they were behind the desk.”

Iceni paused. “Why do you say that?” Her voice sounded a bit too calm, too controlled as she asked the question.

“You said it used directional explosives,” Drakon explained. “The trigger would only have been scanning in the direction the explosives would strike.”

“Yes,” Iceni agreed. “So the trigger could only be detected in that direction? Interesting.”

Drakon gave her a demanding look. “Why?”

She watched him again for a while before replying. He wished he could hear the thoughts behind Iceni’s eyes.

Suddenly, Iceni made a small movement that caused a compact but very lethal and powerful weapon to appear in her hand. “You know that I could kill you right now.”

“I know that you could try. You must know that I have the same sort of defenses.”

“Yes.” Another twitch and the weapon disappeared into concealment again. “Why didn’t you tense when I displayed my weapon?”

Drakon gestured toward her face. “I was watching your eyes, not the weapon. When someone intends using a weapon, you can read it in the eyes first. You didn’t have the look.”

“I’ll have to work on that. I thought maybe you… trusted me. My experience in life,” Iceni said, “everything I have learned while climbing to the rank of CEO in the Syndicate, tells me to trust no one. There is only one person in this star system who I can be certain is not working against me.”

He started to smile, only to stop as she continued.

“That person is the Alliance liaison officer. I know she is not a snake. I know she is not working for you, or for any other faction in this star system, or for anyone in any nearby star system.”

“You think she doesn’t have any agendas?” Drakon challenged, his voice harsh.

“I know she does. And I know those agendas should correspond to mine.”

“Really? Are you ready for those free-and-open elections the Alliance always boasts about?”

Iceni didn’t answer immediately, instead sitting back and running one hand through her hair as she looked to the side. “You brought that up before. The citizens seem to be content with the bones we’re throwing them,” she finally said.

“I assume you’ve seen the same reports that I have,” Drakon said, pushing his point. “Some elements are already dissatisfied, already pushing for elections for all positions up to and including yours.”

Her eyes went back to him, challenging this time. “But not yours.”

“Because I don’t fill that kind of job. But those elements of the citizens expect me to obey whomever they elect to your job. I’m not thrilled at the idea,” Drakon added. “At some point, we’ll have to confront those citizens. That means keeping the majority of the citizens on our side and the majority of the elected offices on our side. I understand what that means. So do you. That Alliance officer? Very likely not.”

Iceni nodded, her eyes still on him. “You’re right. What are you telling me, Artur?”

“I’m telling you that the reason we decided to work together in the first place is still valid. If we’re going to survive, if we’re going to win, we need to work as a team.” I don’t know why I want her to believe that so badly, but I do. Anyway, it’s true. Alone, either one of us will be toast.

She finally smiled. “I wanted to hear you say that. I agree with you, but I wanted to know that you still understood what we’re facing. But does everyone else understand? Everyone who works for us?”

“No.” There wasn’t any sense in beating around the bush. “Not for me, anyway.”

“Not for me, either.” Iceni stood up, then reached a hand toward him. “Is there anyone you trust in this star system?”

He had to think carefully before answering, then stood as well and very briefly grasped her offered hand. “Yes.”

He knew Iceni was waiting to hear more before they both headed for the door, but, still smarting from her statement that she could only trust the Alliance liaison officer, Drakon said nothing else.

Black Jack’s fleet had departed but had left something behind that required Drakon’s personal presence in the main orbiting facility. The Syndicate citizens who had been captured and kept imprisoned by the alien enigma race had all chosen to stay at Midway, all three hundred and thirty-three of them. Black Jack had offered them eighteen, but at the critical moment, when the former prisoners would have been separated from each other, the rest of the group had changed their minds. It was the sort of thing you would expect from people suffering the effects of long imprisonment together. But now they were all free, and they were all coming here. They knew nothing about the enigmas, but their presence at Midway would still be a diplomatic coup of sorts.

Drakon sat alone in the passenger compartment of a military shuttle as it rose above the atmosphere. The large display at the front of the compartment was set for a split screen, one half looking upward to endless dark and endless stars, the other half down to where white clouds drifted above vast expanses of water broken by chains of islands and a couple of small island-continents. He had a sensation of being suspended between extremes, a feeling that his own decisions and actions could keep him here, balanced between the heavens and a living world, or propel him down to a fiery reentry or up to be lost in the cold dark.

The urgent chime of his comm unit provided a welcome interruption to the disturbing reverie. “What’s up?” he asked as the image of Colonel Malin appeared. “Is President Iceni going to be delayed?” Iceni was taking her own shuttle up. While the public image of them riding together might have helped cement the citizens’ view of Drakon and Iceni as co-rulers working in what passed for harmony under a Syndicate definition of the term, the risk of having two extremely lucrative targets in one vehicle had been judged far too great. Besides, accidents did happen. Real accidents, as opposed to the sort of accidents that conveniently removed rivals.