Jack Campbell: Perilous Shield

“I know they communicate with us in our own language, but how much do they really understand of statements like that?” Drakon asked.

“I don’t know. No one does. But that’s the sort of talking they do when communicating with us over video links using human-appearing avatars.” Iceni breathed a small laugh. “Maybe Black Jack has learned how much the enigmas really understand human concepts. If he’s not dead. Now, let’s make our offer to CEO Boyens.”

This time the beam was directed toward the flotilla hovering near the hypernet gate. “CEO Boyens, you have seen that we face a mutual enemy. You must stand with us. Together, we have a chance to turn away this attack on a human-occupied star system. If you assist in this matter, if you avoid offensive action against our forces while the enigmas are here and act as if coordinating your forces with ours, we will agree to surrender to you this star system and everything in it intact after the enigmas are convinced to leave. If you do not assist, your own mission here is certain to fail. Work with us against a mutual enemy for our mutual benefit. For the people, Iceni, out.”

She shrugged as that transmission ended. “I doubt that he will agree, but asking can’t make things any worse.”

The atmosphere in the command center had changed, taking on a new level of tension. Drakon glanced at Colonel Malin, who subtly tilted his head toward the nearest specialists. Of course. They just heard Iceni offering a deal to hand this star system back to the Syndicate Worlds. That couldn’t be helped, but we can reassure our workers, who would all probably rather face total destruction to bring down the enigmas than accept having the snakes return.

“If Boyens does fall for it,” Drakon said, speaking loudly enough that the nearest specialists who were listening-without-seeming-to could just hear, “we’ll arrange things so the enigmas hit Boyens instead of our own forces. Once we’ve eliminated the enigmas we’ll turn on whatever’s left of the Syndicate flotilla and crush it.”

Iceni kept her puzzlement at his open admission of their probable (if so unlikely to succeed as to be delusional) course of action from showing on her face, but her eyes questioned him before going to the nearby workers and lighting with understanding. “Yes, of course,” Iceni agreed. “If CEO Boyens is desperate enough to accept our offer, we’ll destroy him as soon as he lets his guard down. The snakes of the Syndicate Internal Security Service will not ever again control the fates of the people of this star system.”

Their performance must have quelled some of the anxiety inside the command center. Drakon heard a low buzz of conversation that held none of the rising fears that could have touched off riot or revolt among the workers.

“I have the awful feeling that they might trust us,” Iceni remarked in a very low voice which held amusement mingled with disbelief as she looked at the workers.

“You’d think they’d know better,” Drakon commented, hearing a bitterness in his own voice that he had not anticipated.

Malin edged closer to speak quietly. “They know what they have seen of your actions. Do not assume they are stupid. Assume that, like all other people, they are often ruled by self-interest. You got rid of the snakes. You have granted them more freedom. You have shown concern for them.”

“Have we?” Iceni asked. “Your officer is prone to odd notions, General.”

“He’s often right,” Drakon said.

“Which is why you instinctively leap to his defense?” Iceni eyed Drakon, her look challenging. “You have a habit of doing that with your executives and your workers, don’t you, General?”

“It’s what works for me,” Drakon growled in reply, wondering if Iceni was now going to issue even more pointed criticism of his un-Syndicate-like behavior. Of course she won’t approve of my methods. Just about every other CEO I’ve met feels the same. And it still ticks me off. I get better results than they do. How dare they criticize my way of getting the job done?

But whatever Iceni’s opinions might be remained hidden behind her eyes. She was good at that, too. Instead, Iceni simply nodded. “It’s what got you sent to Midway and nearly got you executed by the snakes, General. Some might wonder at that sort of management record.”

“I’m not a manager,” Drakon said with more heat than he had intended. “I am a leader.”

“And his troops will follow his lead,” Malin said.

Iceni’s eyes flickered toward Malin, a humorless smile barely bending her lips, her gaze appraising. It was the sort of look anyone below CEO rank in the Syndicate Worlds feared, the sort of assessment of an individual’s worth and attitude that could result in promotion but more often in demotion or even a sentence to a labor camp. “I am not your General, Colonel Malin. I am not nearly as forgiving of unruliness in my subordinates, even those who offer valuable suggestions. Keep that in mind when you speak to me.”

Malin stiffened. “I understand and will comply, Madam President.”

“Good.” Iceni walked off, raising her comm unit in one hand and speaking in a low voice, her personal privacy field once again blocking her words from being heard by anyone nearby.

Drakon watched her go. Selling me down the river is the only card Gwen Iceni has to offer Boyens. But without me, she can’t hold on to this planet and this star system. She knows that. Maybe she doesn’t like that. Like me, she was trained by the Syndicate system not to depend on anyone else. Even if she doesn’t want to betray me, Iceni has to be considering her survival options right now. What if it comes down to her or me?

Whatever Iceni might be planning could take hours to materialize, if she was planning anything, and his defensive measures against her had to take into account that he needed Gwen Iceni just as much as she needed him, and that she was very good at whatever she turned her mind to. The external threats that might trigger a desperate internal fight to survive between him and Iceni loomed large on the main display behind Malin. But it would be hours before either the powerful enigma fleet or the Syndicate flotilla commanded by CEO Boyens received Iceni’s messages as they crawled across the vast distances of space at the speed of light. Reactions or replies, if any, would take at least as long to be seen or heard. Time to make plans, time to prepare for action, time to worry about the plans your partner might be making and actions your partner might be preparing for. Time for the citizens to realize just how bad things were, and react with the panic or fury the Syndicate system expected of the mob, or with the resolve and reliability that he and Iceni hoped to create by offering more individual responsibility for the workers. Time for missteps and misunderstandings among supposed friends and allies to cause as much or more damage than deliberate malice.

Friends and allies. Drakon saw Iceni watching the display, revealing for a brief, unguarded moment a grim anxiety as she stared not at the enigma fleet nor the Syndicate flotilla but at the depiction of the Midway Flotilla. The warships upon which Iceni’s power rested. “Colonel Malin, can you come up with any possible scenarios where the warships of the Midway Flotilla will survive even if the rest of us somehow manage to pull through?”

Malin paused for only a moment, then shook his head. “Barring a miracle, there’s only one, sir. If they flee for an unguarded jump point. No one, ourselves included, could stop them.”

“And the officers and workers on those ships surely know that.”

“Yes, sir. As does Kommodor Marphissa. She is too capable not to be aware of her certain fate if her ships do not run for safety.”