“It’s not that.” It’s that this is exactly the sort of situation where I can use Colonel Malin’s status as an information source to my advantage while also limiting the chances that anyone will guess what I’m planning. She managed to muster up a reassuring smile for Togo. “You’re too close to me. If you’re known to be involved, everyone will try to find out what’s going on.”
Togo did not look comforted by the weak rationale. “Madam President, I must caution you that General Drakon is certain to be working against you. He will use any apparent closeness between you to his advantage.”
“Closeness?” Iceni asked sharply.
“There have been . . . rumors.”
“There will always be rumors. I can’t let my actions be constrained by gossips who haven’t matured since leaving school as children! Get that message to General Drakon while I contact the new cruiser.”
DRAKON gazed steadily at Iceni, turning her proposal over in his mind. I’m not expert on mobile forces tactics, but the concept seems sound. “You think this might work?”
“I think it has a good chance,” she said, “but we can’t send Togo. Everyone will notice his absence and assume he’s on some special mission for me.”
“Who do we send? I agree it’s too risky to put any of this into a transmission. One hint of what we’re doing, and Boyens can thumb his nose at us.”
Iceni made a casual gesture with one hand. “How about Colonels Malin and Morgan?”
“Two of my people? Going to personally meet with Black Jack?” His gaze on her narrowed. “You’re willing to risk that I won’t have them carry some other message as well?”
“Yes, I am,” Iceni said calmly. “Are you saying that I shouldn’t?”
“I’m saying that you and I both have a lot of experience with not taking those kinds of risks. What’s changed?”
“I have gotten to know you better.”
He wanted to believe that, which made him even more wary.
“In any event,” Iceni continued, “I can have one of your officers wear a sealed monitor that will record everything said. That will ensure no unauthorized messages get passed to Black Jack.”
“All right. I can see why you would suggest Colonel Malin. But why Morgan?”
Her smile this time was knowing. “Because if either of them had their own plans, the other would tell you.”
“True enough.” He went through the plan again in his mind, then nodded. “I agree. People will notice Malin and Morgan aren’t around, but they’ll assume they’re on my business, which doesn’t involve the mobile forces.”
“Warships,” Iceni corrected. “I want to get completely away from Syndicate terminology and Syndicate ways of thinking. I expect to hear from the new cruiser soon in response to our offer to use one of our heavy cruisers to escort him to his home star. As soon as he agrees, I’ll notify you, and we can work out how to get your officers to Black Jack without anyone’s knowing.”
Drakon rubbed his lower face with one hand as he thought. “We could use that new Alliance liaison officer in this.”
“Could we? Yes. You’re right.” Her smile this time appeared completely genuine. “We make a good team, Artur.”
MARPHISSA stood at Manticore’s main air lock, waiting for the shuttle to finish sealing to the access. What the hell is going on? Why did the President insist that I go to personally inspect progress on getting our battleship ready to fight?
It had taken two days for Manticore to reach the gas giant, where the new battleship Midway continued her slow progress in fitting out. Now Marphissa was two days away from the rest of the flotilla and light-hours distant from knowing what was happening near the hypernet gate.
The shuttle took her directly to one of Midway’s air locks, where Marphissa found the young and brilliant Kapitan-Leytenant Kontos waiting by himself. “This way, Kommodor,” Kontos said.
They started off alone through the battleship. Despite the shipyard workers and skeleton crew, the vast size of the battleship left many areas seemingly deserted. Marphissa felt a sense of unease as they headed down one such passageway. Kontos had shown no signs of dangerous ambition, and President Iceni had ordered her here, but this setup felt far too much like the sort of disappearance that occasionally afflicted senior Syndicate officers who had offended someone. And there had been rumors passed on to Marphissa by “friends” who had heard that Iceni had been very unhappy with the trick that had fooled Boyens into letting the new heavy cruiser escape. Even if those stories are true, the President would not make me disappear. She is different. “What’s going on?” she asked Kontos in a low voice.
Kontos gave her an enigmatic look. “I can’t tell you. It’s important. You’re . . . going to meet another officer. Someone who’s supposed to join you on Manticore.”
That was reassuring, since it meant she was supposed to return to Manticore, hopefully in one piece and not under arrest.
Kontos pulled out an envelope and passed it to her. “Orders. I have not read them, just a cover document that told me to pass them to you.”
“Written orders?” Marphissa stared at the envelope as she took it.
“They don’t want to risk any compromise of whatever is in there.”
“I should say they don’t! I’ve never seen orders written on paper before.”
Kontos paused outside a hatch. “She’s in here. I’m the only one aboard this ship who has seen her.”
“Who the hell is it? Has the President herself secretly come aboard?”
“That would have been less surprising,” Kontos said. He saluted. “I am to see you inside, seal the hatch, then wait until you call. There’s a working comm panel keyed to my seat on the bridge. I’ll wait there.”
“Am I supposed to read these orders before I meet this officer?”
“I don’t know, Kommodor.”
“Fine. Let me in. I’ll give you a call when I’m done.” Stupid secrecy, Marphissa thought. What could be so hush-hush as to justify all of this—
She got two steps inside the compartment and froze, barely aware of Kontos sealing the hatch behind her.
Standing next to one of the tables bolted to the deck was an Alliance fleet captain in full uniform.
Marphissa took a deep breath. An Alliance officer. She had seen prisoners, she had met Alliance ships in battle, but she had never actually talked to an Alliance officer, or anyone else from the Alliance for that matter. The war had lasted for a century. The people of the Alliance weren’t just the enemy; they had always been the enemy, always the threat to her and her home. Meeting one of them couldn’t have felt more alien than if there had been an enigma in that compartment.
But President Iceni had sent her here. There must be a good reason for this.
I have faced death. I can face an Alliance fleet officer.
“I’m Captain Bradamont,” the officer said, standing as if at attention.
“Kommodor Marphissa,” she replied automatically. Marphissa’s eyes went to the left breast of Bradamont’s uniform, where the combat awards and duty awards were displayed. But where on a Syndicate suit those awards would form a readable summary of someone’s career, the Alliance decorations were all unknown, a riot of color and design that held no meaning to Marphissa. Who was this woman? “Why are you here?”
“You haven’t been given any orders?”
“I . . .” Marphissa looked at the envelope she was still holding. “Maybe I had better read these now.”
After some frustrating moments trying to figure out how it worked, Marphissa managed to split the seal on the envelope. She fumbled out the papers inside and read rapidly. Liaison officer . . . assist in special project . . . authorized full access . . . “What’s this special project? Wait, there’s another page.”
An operation aimed at trapping the Syndicate flotilla into either fighting or
leaving? Marphissa focused back on the Alliance officer. “Captain ?”
“Bradamont.”
“I am completely at a loss here. I’ve never even imagined talking to someone like you. When the snakes were everywhere, it would have meant being charged with treason.”
“Snakes? Oh. Internal Security.”
The loathing in Bradamont’s voice matched Marphissa’s own feelings about the snakes. Marphissa found herself thawing slightly. “They’re all gone. We killed them.” I personally killed one of them. Why do I feel a sudden need to boast about that, as if I need to top this woman with my own accomplishments? But I don’t like to remember killing that snake. He deserved it, but I don’t like to recall doing it.
Bradamont had nodded at her words. “I know you got rid of your Internal Security. I wouldn’t have agreed to stay in this star system if they had remained.”
“Agreed?”
“I volunteered. Or, rather, Admiral Geary asked me to volunteer.”
“Admiral Geary? Oh, you mean Black Jack. That would have been a hard request to turn down, I imagine. Were you on his staff?”
The Alliance officer shook her head. “I commanded Dragon. A battle cruiser.”
The statement hadn’t come out sounding like a boast, but it could have been. Marphissa came closer to Bradamont, eyeing her. “Why did you believe us when we told you the snakes were gone?”
“It’s hard to miss the wreckage where the Internal Security installations used to be,” Bradamont said. “And someone in this star system whom I trusted confirmed the fact.”
“The Alliance had a spy in this star system?” Marphissa blurted out.
“No. Not even remotely. He’s . . . a friend.”
“A friend.” A spy she could accept. A friend? How could that be?
A long pause followed as both seemed lost for anything to talk about. What did you say to the enemy? Even if she had ceased to be the enemy? Finally, Bradamont gestured vaguely around her. “I see that you’ve acquired a battleship.”
“Yes.” Marphissa said. “From Kane. We took it from the Syndicate orbital facility there.”
“I got to see the action report,” Bradamont said, startling Marphissa. “Your President sent it to me. That was some very good ship handling, Kommodor.”
Marphissa almost jerked in shock at the praise, then felt herself warming more, though warily. This woman was one of Black Jack’s battle cruiser commanders, and she thinks I did a good job at Kane? Well, I did. But I never expected to hear an Alliance officer say that. Is she trying to get on my good side, flatter me to get me off guard? “Thank you . . . Captain.” Another uncomfortable pause. “Have you ever been on a battleship?” Marphissa asked.
“A Syndic battleship, you mean?” Bradamont asked. She tilted her head slightly in thought. “Just once. Leading a boarding party. That was at Ixchel.”
Apparently there were no safe topics. “I’m not familiar with that engagement.” There had been so many engagements. “I take it the Alliance won.”
“If you define winning as being the last ones left alive, and not very many of you,” Bradamont replied. “Then we left, and we blew it up.”
Common ground. Not too surprising, really. “You lost a lot of people capturing the battleship, then you left and blew it up.”
“It sounds like you’ve been through the same sort of thing.”
“A few times.” Another awkward silence fell as Marphissa gestured toward the chairs around the nearest table. This compartment would be an officers’ lounge when finished. Though still lacking in many features, it did have the furniture installed. “Have a seat. Please.”
“Thank you.” Bradamont sat, her eyes on Marphissa. “In case you’re wondering, I feel uncomfortable, too.”
“I could tell. Because a few months ago we would have been trying to kill each other?”
“And we’ve spent all of our adult lives trying to kill each other, as did our parents and grandparents.”
“But now we’re, um . . .” Marphissa searched for the right word and failed. “What are we?”
“On the same side, I guess. What do you think of the plan to deal with the Syndic flotilla?”
“Risky. But . . . if it works . . .”
Bradamont smiled. “Right. If it works.” She reached into a duffel near the table, pretending not to notice Marphissa tensing up, and lifted out a bottle. “I brought a small gift. A token of . . . um . . .”
“Greetings?” Marphissa asked, examining the label. “Whiskey? From Vernon? Do you know how much this is worth in Syndicate space? Nobody has been able to get this stuff except through the black market for . . . for a century.”
“We’re not in Syndicate space, are we?” Bradamont asked.
Marphissa grinned despite her worries. “No. We’re not. Not anymore. Do you mind if I open it?”
“I was hoping you would.” Bradamont smiled back. “I’ll take the first drink so you can be sure it’s not drugged or poisoned.”
“You could have already taken an antidote,” Marphissa pointed out. “Or, you might just want a head start on drinking this.”
“You’re pretty sharp for a—” Bradamont’s smile faded. “Sorry.”
“Force of habit,” Marphissa said, pouring out two drinks. “I may call you something obscene without thinking about it. Try not to take it personally.”
“Deal.”
Marphissa took a cautious sip, marveling at the taste. “I admit to being baffled. How could you choose to put yourself in the hands of . . .”
“People who were Syndics not long ago? It wasn’t easy.” Emotion flashed through Bradamont’s eyes. “I’ve been in a Syndic labor camp. I know what they’re like.”
“There are no more labor camps. Not where President Iceni’s authority holds.”
“So I was told.” Bradamont smiled again. “You sound proud of that.”
“I am. We . . . we are changing things here.” Marphissa smiled once more, too. “President Iceni will help us build a government that truly is for the people.”
Bradamont studied Marphissa for a long moment, then raised her own glass. “In that case, let us salute your President Iceni.”
Marphissa matched the gesture. “To our President.” She watched how much Bradamont drank, determined not to be more affected by the alcohol than the Alliance officer. But Bradamont had saluted Iceni . . . “You’re just here to help with this operation?”
Bradamont shook her head. “I’m supposed to stay, when the fleet leaves. Liaison officer. To keep track of what’s happening here and to provide any assistance I can that is consistent with Alliance interests.”
“Assistance?” Marphissa laughed at a wild thought. “Tactics? Can you show us how Black Jack fights?”
“Yes.”
Blessed ancestors! Marphissa took a bigger drink. Amazement warred with a feeling of resentment. “That’s . . . can I explain my feelings to you? Because I’m having a hard time resolving them. On the one hand, I’m thinking how great it would be to have someone teach us a few of Black Jack’s tricks. And with the Alliance fleet having vastly superior power to anything in what used to be Syndicate space, having one of Black Jack’s former officers among us can’t be a bad thing. So, for that I want to kiss you.”
Bradamont took another sip of her drink, raising an eyebrow at Marphissa. “I take it I shouldn’t be freshening my lip gloss right now, though.”
“No, because on the other hand, your Black Jack humiliated us and annihilated our mobile forces, which were crewed by our comrades. That’s bad enough. But now one of his own is descending from on high to show us how to fight. For that, I want to slug you.”
“You don’t usually have that sort of mix of emotions about people, Kommodor?” Bradamont asked.
“Not usually. Or at least not at the same time. What are
your emotions, Captain?”
Bradamont looked around again, taking another slow drink. “I understand your feelings. Any professional is going to feel pride in their own work, in their own abilities. They’re going to resent any hint of condescending assistance. But you don’t need any help with the fundamentals. If what you did at Kane is any indication, you are good, Kommodor. As for me, it’s strange. I’ve been on Syndic, excuse me, Syndicate Worlds’ planets before. As a prisoner. Part of me is screaming escape, you fool! Another part of me looks at you in that uniform and tells me I should hate you for all the deaths and destruction of a very long and very senseless war.” She set down her glass and shook her head. “Parts of me are stuck in the past. The rest sees people who are trying to put the past behind them, to make something new, to throw off the bonds that have held them. And you are Colonel Rogero’s people.”
“Colonel Rogero?” Marphissa had to concentrate to remember who that was. “One of General Drakon’s brigade commanders. He is your friend?”
“Yes.”
The single word held more emotion than friends usually inspired. “Ah. All right. There must be an interesting story behind that.”
“There is.” Bradamont leaned back, draping one arm over the back of her chair. “The bottom line is that I knew, because of Colonel Rogero, that Syndics were human, too. That some of you were not just human but very fine humans. That couldn’t change things during the war. I had to keep fighting all of you, and I had to do my best, because regardless of who each of you were as individuals, you were all fighting for something that I couldn’t allow to win.”
“I see.” Marphissa sighed heavily, looking at the unfinished top of the table. “I didn’t want the Syndicate to win, but I was afraid of what might happen when the Alliance won. They showed us pictures of the planets that had been fought over, bombarded— Don’t. I know. We did it, too. I wanted to protect my home. That was all. They taught us you started the war. Did you know that? As kids, they told us it was all the Alliance’s fault. Once you got old enough and high enough in the executive ranks you could learn the truth, that the Syndicate chose to start the war. But, by then, what were you going to do with the knowledge? By then . . . there wasn’t anything left to do but keep fighting because what else could you do?”