“The dockyards?” Drakon asked.
A pause followed, then the representative spoke more cautiously. “Yes. The primary orbiting dockyards. They belong to us.”
“We took them from the Syndicate government,” Drakon replied. “They were never under control of the Free Taroans.”
Kamara was watching him, her eyes hard. “You’re going to keep them.”
“We have every right to keep them,” Drakon pointed out.
A woman representative burst out loudly. “You won’t be able to sustain that facility without support from this planet!”
“You’re not threatening me, are you?” Drakon asked. “What happened to ‘thank you for the victory that gave us this planet mostly intact’? What happened to your gratitude? We’re not taking anything that you ever possessed. If you want to talk about joint-use agreements, I’m sure we can come up with something, but control of those docks will remain in our hands.”
“Threats would be meaningless,” Kamara said, as much to the other representatives as in reply to Drakon. She leaned forward, hands clasped on the table, her eyes fixed on his. “We know that there’s a partially completed battleship in the main construction dock. I assume you intend keeping that as well.”
Drakon nodded. “There’s a lot of work yet to be done before it can even leave the dock, but once the battleship is finished, it will be an important part of the defenses for our star system. And yours, should you choose to work with us.”
“Choose?” someone asked scornfully. “We have no choices here.”
“Yes, we do,” Kamara corrected. “We had no choices before because all we could do was hang on against the Syndicate forces and the Workers United. Now we can decide how to deal with control of this planet, and the control of the star system that comes with that. The orbiting docks are critical, but we can’t take them by force, not when Midway’s ground forces and mobile forces protect that facility.”
“We give in to blackmail?” the first man cried.
“We deal with reality.”
No one replied to that for a while. Drakon waited, impressed by how well Kamara was herding the other representatives into handling the situation. She might end up in control of this star system on her own.
“There are strong grounds for negotiating the status of the orbiting docks,” another woman finally said, trying to look bold as her gaze flicked nervously toward Drakon. “Any forces from Midway that remain here to protect those docks will also, of necessity, protect us. Unfortunately, we are an interim government. We need to establish the exact form of our government, win the approval of the citizens for that, then hold elections for all offices. But it will be hard to gain the people’s acceptance for the loss of the partially completed battleship.”
“If I may suggest,” Malin said, sounding somehow even more reasonable than before, “there is no certain time for such a government to be established, while the dangers that face us all exist now, and the need to keep commerce active and revitalized in this region is also a current requirement. You might consider granting a group of trusted citizens such as yourselves the power to reach temporary agreements on matters such as trade and mutual defense, those agreements to be subject to eventual ratification by whichever government is finally established. That would ensure that the government you establish has the final word but also enable us all to pursue actions necessary to the good of the citizens in the meantime.”
The congress members looked interested and impressed by Malin’s words. “But, the battleship . . .” one pressed.
“If the battleship were on the table,” Malin said, “then agreeing to its loss might create problems for your government. But as General Drakon pointed out, our forces took that battleship from the Syndicate government. It was ours before we ever spoke with the Free Taroans, so you’re not giving up anything.”
Kamara smiled coldly. “We will discuss this, but perhaps we can agree that, officially, the battleship was never a Free Taroan asset. Our government doesn’t need that kind of problem on top of everything else we have to deal with. Unofficially, though, the representatives of Free Taroa will expect some concessions for that.”
“Unofficially,” Malin replied, “we can discuss that.”
“May we send representatives back with you?” another representative asked. “To discuss these issues directly with President Iceni?”
“That’s fine with me,” Drakon said, wondering if they thought that Iceni would be any more willing than he to give away even a partially completed battleship hull. “We have some representatives with us from President Iceni who can discuss the trade agreements, and a proposed agreement on defense for you to look at. Colonel Malin will be your point of contact on that.” The last thing that he wanted to do was get personally bogged down negotiating trade agreements and parsing which comma went where.
“General,” another member of the interim congress began, smiling in the ingratiating manner that labeled him a trained executive. “Our own soldiers are limited in number, and we do face some security issues. You’re already keeping some ground forces on the orbiting docks. Perhaps if some more of your ground forces remained on the surface on a purely temporary basis—”
Frowns were already breaking out on many other faces as Drakon interrupted the speaker. “No. All my forces except those providing security on the orbital docks are going back to Midway. That was the agreement.” He made it sound like a great virtue, to be abiding by what he had said he would do, when in fact Drakon simply didn’t want his soldiers tied down in garrison duty in former WU-dominated areas. He knew without asking that such places were where the Free Taroans would want to employ soldiers from another star system. We’ve got what we want, and we’ve done as much dirty work as we’re going to do in this star system.
He managed to keep from going CEO on them again until the discussion ended, then Drakon left with a feeling of great relief.
He paused on the way out, ensuring that his security equipment was blocking any attempt at surveillance. “Good job jumping in there, Bran.”
Malin shrugged. “In matters like mutual defense and trade, our self-interest coincides with that of the Free Taroans. I didn’t want them short-circuiting the possibility of agreements with their clumsy attempts to get something for nothing.”
“Yeah. A few times in there I was really missing being a Syndicate CEO. I hope they get their acts together before this free star system goes completely down the tubes.” Drakon checked his security readouts again, but they were still secure. Even though the Free Taroans had piously announced that they would never allow the sort of routine surveillance that had characterized Syndicate rule, he suspected that they would bend those beliefs just as soon as they thought it necessary. “How is the recruiting of information sources and active agents going?”
“We’ll have a number in place here before we leave,” Malin promised. “That’s another advantage for us in increasing trade. The more merchant ships traveling from Taroa to Midway, the more opportunity our agents here will have to pass us information covertly, and the more ships going from Midway to Taroa, the more chances we have to send covert instructions to our agents here.”
“Funny how that works out. Judging from what we dealt with in there, we’re going to need the active agents getting to work right off the bat. We need them to push, cajole, bribe, convince, blackmail, or whatever works to get a government working here.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And not just any government,” Drakon said. “It has to be strong enough to maintain control of this planet and star system, stable enough to hold together over time, and friendly enough to work with us. Strong enough, stable enough, and friendly enough. We need all three, and I’m sure President Iceni won’t balk at whatever we need to spend to get that.” That was something else the hypernet gate fees would be spent on, but there h
adn’t been any sense in bringing that up during the meeting with the congress. “Did you see how Sub-CEO Kamara was dominating the others?”
Malin nodded soberly. “Yes, sir. We want her working with us.”
“Morgan would recommend getting her out of the way if she didn’t play ball.”
“Morgan would be mistaken,” Malin insisted. “Someone like Kamara could make all the difference in the formation of a strong, stable government here. I didn’t see any other players in there with her level of authority, and to the citizens here, she is the hero who defeated the loyalists. Get rid of Kamara, and there’s no one to step into the void. The Free Taroans want a government with elections from top to bottom, General. They might just elect Kamara on their own if she’s around to be a candidate.”
“If they do that, and if Kamara proves to be what we need, then fine. If the Taroans work out an elected government, we might learn a few things from them. If it doesn’t work, then we’ll still learn a few things and have a cautionary example for anyone pushing for that kind of thing in our star system.” Drakon studied Malin. “Speaking of which, you seem to have given that a lot of thought, Colonel Malin. And you seem to know a lot more about different forms of government than the Syndicate liked people knowing.”
Malin nodded with a serious expression. “Everyone requires a hobby, General.”
An evasive answer, one that revealed nothing. But clearly Malin wasn’t going to say more unless pressed hard, and Drakon couldn’t believe that Malin would betray him. “You picked a strange hobby. And a dangerous one. Just get enough agents in our pay on this planet, and get those agents working to make happen what we want to happen.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll be leaving here within the hour. There’s some work in that respect that needs to be personally carried out in another city.” Malin saluted and rushed off. Drakon had no doubt that by the time they left this star system, there would be a widespread and effective system of covert agents working to accomplish his and Iceni’s goals.
It should have pleased him. Everything was working out. But Drakon felt dissatisfied. The Free Taroans had been extremely aggravating, outwardly thankful and yet carefully avoiding actually offering anything in exchange for the aid they had received. They had even balked at the simple truth that the orbital docks, and the battleship being constructed there, were now the property of those who had taken them from the Syndicate government. Yet the Free Taroans had also been so enthusiastic and idealistic. They were fools, doomed to disappointment when their dreams collided with reality, but . . . it would be nice to have something to be enthusiastic about. It would be nice to have something to believe in besides maintaining power, keeping his skin in one piece, and foiling his enemies. How long had it been since he had felt either enthusiasm or idealism?
Though he had felt something with Iceni. She seemed to be looking for that, too, some bigger reason to be in charge, some purpose beyond survival.
Unfortunately, Iceni wasn’t here. She was light-years distant. Drakon looked around. Sentries stood here and there, watching for threats. He wasn’t alone, but he didn’t exactly have company either. Kai was half a continent away. Gaiene was probably already drunk and trying to see how many women he could get through in one night. Colonel Senski wasn’t sufficiently well-known to relax with. Malin was off setting up the spy network. And Drakon didn’t think he had the energy or patience to deal with Morgan’s idea of conversation tonight.
The Interim Congress of Free Taroa had shown its appreciation for him by giving him the living quarters of the former star-system CEO for the night. That had cost them nothing, of course. Drakon hadn’t been able to find out what had happened to that CEO. Everyone knew that the CEO had left for refuge with the ISS when the civil war broke out, but after that, the trail got hazy. The CEO might have caught a ride on one of the ships the snakes had managed to send out of the star system, but other reports claimed that the CEO had been executed for failure or treason or whatever grounds the snakes wanted to use and the body disposed of. Either way, there didn’t seem much chance of the CEO’s showing up again, and the living areas and offices had been gone over with a fine-toothed comb for surveillance devices and booby traps.
Drakon keyed in the access code and entered, looking around with amusement. The former CEO on Taroa had some luxurious tastes, especially considering that Taroa hadn’t been that wealthy a star system even before the civil war hit it hard. The former CEO must have engaged in some truly epic skimming of tax revenue to afford such a setup. The bedroom featured not just expensive art and sculptures, not just a full bar well stocked even with liquors from Alliance planets that had been available only through the black market for the last century, and not just a bed big enough for an entire squad of soldiers to have used without squeezing together, but also an actual fireplace in one corner, framed by an expansive marble mantel.
None of it had done that CEO much good when the revolution started. As a matter of fact, the corruption this place implied had probably helped trigger the three-way fight that had sent the CEO fleeing.
Drakon strolled over to the fireplace, peered at the controller almost invisibly set into the marble, then activated it. A decent blaze erupted from the logs, filling the room with flickering light. Laughing self-mockingly at the indulgence, Drakon walked to the bar and examined the contents. Rum from Hispan! Amazing. Filling a tall glass, Drakon sprawled into a plush chair and gazed at the fire.
He had forgotten the problem with fires. When the flames danced, you could see things in them. After having risen to the rank of CEO, after having fought far too many battles, the things Drakon saw in the fire were not born of pleasant memories. Crowding to the forefront was that city. Where had it been? Some Alliance planet. Burning. Square kilometers in flames, no one to put them out, all automated firefighting systems destroyed, soldiers in armor moving among the holocaust, adding to the destruction as they struggled for control of the city ablaze around them. He had never seen so many things burning. Towering buildings, long stretches of low-slung housing, trees . . .
He remembered being told as he stood with his surviving soldiers amid the smoking ruins that the Syndicate ground forces had triumphed and controlled what had once been a city. A week later, with Alliance reinforcements storming into the star system, Drakon and the others still alive had been evacuated as the badly outnumbered remnants of the Syndicate mobile forces withdrew.
In official reports, it had been described as a Syndicate victory.
The first drink didn’t douse the fires in his memories. He went back to the bar for a second. That was better. But recollections of old battles and dead friends still kept crowding in to destroy the tranquillity he sought, and that undefined sense of discontent with events at Taroa still troubled him, so Drakon got a third. He rarely did this, rarely drank so much, but that night he understood Gaiene better than usual. Even thinking about that new battleship, which might be a year away from being completed and operational, didn’t help. If he couldn’t find temporary tranquillity tonight, temporary oblivion would have to do.
He was well into the third large drink when the door alarm sounded. Nobody could have gotten to that door without passing a lot of sentry posts, so Drakon called out “open” and watched the locks release and the portal swing wide.
Morgan walked in like a panther fresh from a kill. The light from the fire glimmered on her black skin suit as the door swung shut again. Instead of being absorbed by the dull fabric, the firelight seemed to pick out every curve visible under the tight garment. “Hey, boss.” She looked around with a comically puzzled expression. “I expected to see lots of ravaged women lying around here.”
Drakon made a face. “That’s not my style, Morgan.”
“General, I know you like women.”
“I do. But I don’t force women. Never have. Never will. That’s for weaklings and cowards.” He finished th
e third drink in a single swallow while the little monkey in the back of his male mind made excited noises as it watched Morgan move a few steps closer with lethal grace.
“You could hire a woman. Or two or three,” Morgan suggested with a sly smile. “Malin could get them for you. That man is a born pimp if I ever saw one.”
“I don’t need to hire women,” Drakon said with some heat.
“Of course you don’t. You can have any woman you want. They’d come to you willingly. Because you’re a winner, General.” Morgan had stopped a few feet from him, smiling down at Drakon where he sat. “And if you listen to those who want you to win, you can do anything.”
Drakon tried to silence the jabbering alcohol-fueled monkey that was bouncing around so wildly in his head that he couldn’t focus on the warnings his common sense seemed to be trying to get across. “Sure. Look. I’m tired and stressed. Why don’t you—”
“I know you’re stressed. How long has it been, General? I know men. I know how you get. A man needs certain things, and the bigger the man, the more he needs.” Her smile had widened and taken on a quality that the monkey really, really liked. “You need a strong woman. A woman as strong as you are.”
“Morgan—” Drakon began, then the thought of whatever he was going to say vanished from his mind as Morgan reached up and started unsealing her skin suit.
She ran the seal open from shoulder to thigh with one long, languorous motion, then slowly peeled off the suit. The firelight shimmered on her body, Morgan’s eyes glinting with a muted red glow in the reflected light of the flames. “Let’s celebrate your victory,” she said.
He tried to say no, but the drinks had given the monkey enough power to silence any other voices in his head. And the monkey wanted her more than anything. Morgan pounced across the remaining distance between them, tearing at his clothes, and he could see nothing, know nothing, want nothing but the feel of her.