Surveillance cameras, both openly placed and concealed, gazed in her direction as she passed, but they did not see her. Embedded codes created by the ISS to ensure that they remained invisible to the police and other routine observation by creating blind spots in digital sensors were very useful for anyone wanting to move without being seen by the automated eyes of the police and other security forces.
Finally, she reached her objective, an inside corner in a mass-transit station, somewhere out of the crowd enough to avoid random contact or being overheard but close enough to others not to stand out as avoiding company, background noise providing a constant rumbling to help mask conversation. She leaned against one wall, watching passing people for the one she was to meet. Few gave her or the nondescript coat she wore a second glance. High-ranking CEOs and presidents didn’t dress that way, and no CEO or president would be out in public without bodyguards or staffers.
A man wearing another unremarkable civilian coat sauntered into view, altering his course slightly to bring him close to her, where he leaned on the wall beside Iceni. Raising one cupped hand, he showed a small unit glittering with green lights.
Gwen nodded and raised her own hand, showing her own surveillance-detection and blocking readout, also displaying steady green. That was their insurance that every security system monitoring this spot had been temporarily diverted, spoofed, or blinded. The crowds walking by could see them, but no one monitoring their location remotely could hear or see them at all. As far as the surveillance systems were concerned, they weren’t there. State-of-the-art equipment like theirs didn’t come cheap, and finding out all the necessary codes to mislead the equipment wasn’t easy, but those were some of the benefits of being a president. “Any problems?” she murmured.
“No,” her source replied. He didn’t seem nervous at all, appearing bored to the casual observer. “What is the difficulty? You know how risky this is.”
“I need answers now, and I need to know that they are accurate answers,” Iceni said. “What is Drakon doing?”
Her source paused, but more as if thinking than hesitating. “Nothing out of the ordinary. There’s a lot of work to be done overseeing the return of our brigades to the surface and catching up on things here now that he’s back.”
“Is he moving against me?”
Another pause, this time apparently in surprise. “No.”
“If you betray me now, either before I die or soon after I die, Drakon will learn who has been giving me information about him.”
“I have no doubt of that.” Her source shook his head. “He is not acting against you. That’s not to say there is no threat. But it’s not from him.”
“Why is he acting odd?” Iceni demanded.
This was a longer pause. “He slept with Colonel Morgan.”
“Oh.”
She wondered what her tone had conveyed as her source gave her a sharp look. “General Drakon got drunk. She took advantage of that. He slept with her one time and only one time. That is what he feels guilty about.”
“You’re joking.” She would have to be blind not to see how desirable Colonel Morgan would be to a man, and Iceni had lived long enough not to expect perfection from any man, especially when it came to his behavior with women. But she could still be disappointed when a man lived down to her expectations. “One time?”
“Yes. He will not repeat it.”
She had picked up something in his own voice. “What disturbs you about that?”
“You know that I don’t trust her. I am afraid she had some other goal when she seduced General Drakon and will try to use that night to her advantage.”
“If he’s going to take some crazy whore to his bed, he should expect problems,” Iceni said, hearing her own voice get sharp and angry. It sounded like she was taking the incident personally, which was ridiculous.
“She’s not crazy, at least not the way that you’re thinking. Morgan acts in ways that cause others to underestimate her. For many of those others, underestimating her was the last mistake they ever made. She is very good at planning for both the long and the short term. She has some plan now. Do not take her too lightly.”
Iceni made an irate sound. “Then perhaps we would be better off without her to worry about. No matter how dangerous she is, she can be eliminated. No one is invincible.”
“I strongly advise against such a plan and such an action. I will not cooperate in it.”
She felt frustrated now, as well as angry. “You hate her as much as anyone. You’ve tried to kill her already, and you’re advising me not to?”
Colonel Bran Malin grimaced. “I did not try to kill her.”
“Why not?”
Another pause. “Three reasons,” Malin said. “First, she’s very tough and very smart. Any attempt would have a rough time succeeding, and the repercussions from a failure would be extremely serious. Second, General Drakon values her advice and abilities. If he found out that anyone had planned a hit on Morgan, he would be very unhappy. If he discovered I had a role in it, my access to him would be forever eliminated. He would not forgive anyone, not even me, for an attack on someone he considers a faithful subordinate. I very nearly lost my access because of the . . . misunderstanding during the attack on the orbital facility here. Drakon would never have believed me or forgiven me if, during that incident, I had not killed someone who definitely did intend on killing Morgan. If he suspected you in an assassination attempt, it might motivate him to strike at you in the belief that a hit on Morgan was just a prelude to a direct attack on him.”
The arguments made too much sense to be ignored, though she doubted his explanation for the “misunderstanding” in which he had fired at Morgan. There was something else there, but she couldn’t tell what it was. “What is the third reason?” Iceni demanded.
Malin’s expression revealed nothing as he shook his head. “That is a private matter.”
“I want to know it.”
“I regret to disappoint you.”
She set her jaw, wondering how far to push it, whether to threaten exposure. She still didn’t know why Malin was feeding her information, but he had never told her anything that had proven to be less than accurate, and that kind of source that close to Drakon was invaluable. Malin surely knew as well as she did that she wouldn’t want to lose that source unless his usefulness had ended, and therefore a threat to expose him would be a bluff. “You have no idea what Morgan’s plan is?”
“All I know is what I know about her. She’s ambitious. She has no moral qualms. She rarely fails in what she attempts.”
Iceni breathed a soft laugh. “Why wasn’t she a CEO?” That led to another thought, a worrisome one. “Do you think that she means to supplant me?”
“It’s possible. It may be that Drakon is her planned tool in that.”
“Which one of us is in more danger from her then? You or me? Or Drakon himself?”
“I believe that Drakon is safe from her but cannot be certain. Between you and me, I don’t know,” Malin said. “If I am killed, look beneath the surface of whatever happens. I haven’t been able to learn who tried to kill Rogero. Maybe she was involved in that, too. Rogero and Gaiene are very close to Drakon, Kai only a little less so. If my guesses are right, in the long run, Morgan is going to want to isolate Drakon from any influences but her, anyone who might lead him in directions other than whatever she wants.” Malin looked directly at Iceni. “That includes you. I’m not sure of General Drakon’s feelings, but, at the least, he respects you.”
“But he doesn’t trust me,” Iceni said.
“No. He trusts me, and Morgan, and Rogero, Gaiene, and Kai.”
“He trusts you, and you tell me his secrets,” Iceni pressed.
Malin paused again. “I am loyal to General Drakon.”
Are you? What is your long-term p
lan, Colonel Malin? Not that you would tell me. How much of what you’ve just said is truth as you know it, and how much is spin aimed at convincing me to do what you want? “Loyal to General Drakon? You have yet to prove that to me.”
“It is probably impossible for me to prove my loyalty to him to your satisfaction.”
“It would be easy,” Iceni said. “Kill her.”
“Morgan? No.”
“Are you at least watching her?” Iceni demanded.
Malin’s lips twitched in a twisted smile. “I do little but watch her. And I never turn my back on her.”
“Then if you won’t do what seems to be needed in regards to Morgan, at least keep a close eye on General Drakon as well and see if you can prevent him from doing anything else stupid.”
“I am watching him. I admit that I let my guard down at Taroa. But she won’t get to him again like that, and if she tries, I have no doubt that General Drakon will reject her this time.”
“You may have no doubts, but I have mine,” Iceni said. Men. If only they could be counted upon to use their brains to make their decisions for them.
Granted that their male fallibilities made it much easier for women to use them as tools.
Women like Morgan.
Women like her. You won’t have Drakon, Colonel Morgan. I may not decide to want him, but you won’t have him. “And I will watch you, Colonel Malin,” Iceni said.
Another very brief smile. “I never doubt that I am being watched.”
“Keep me informed,” Iceni finished, turning to walk off, knowing that behind her Malin would also blend into the crowd of citizens, there and yet invisible to the surveillance systems monitoring everything said and done in the city.
Almost everything, that is.
Iceni listened as she walked. There were important things that could be learned when you moved among the citizens, indistinguishable from one of them. They said things that you would never hear otherwise, things murmured too low to be distinguished from background noise by the omnipresent surveillance systems.
A lot of talk about Taroa, and most of that happy. The snakes were gone from there. We had helped our neighbors and asked for nothing in return. That Drakon was a great general. There’s a new trade agreement. Ships will be coming through more often again. Good news. Good news.
Did you hear about President Iceni? What Buthol is saying? I don’t believe it. But she was our CEO before she was our president. Everyone knows about CEOs. Isn’t she different? Then why no election for president yet?
Iceni kept her head down until she reached the outer entrance to the bolt-hole, passing through a dozen locks and safeguards of various kinds before feeling safe enough to remove her coat with a heavy sigh. Who was this Buthol? Why were the citizens so full of praise for Drakon but asking questions about her? Was that Drakon’s work, sowing propaganda on his own behalf among the citizens?
It was late. She was tired and needed to think, to have time to absorb what Malin had said, to let her subconscious mull over how Malin had looked and acted.
President Iceni went to bed.
* * *
THE next morning, feeling oddly as if she were hungover without having been drunk the night before, thus getting punishment without benefit of having done anything to deserve it, Iceni drank a breakfast malt to wash down some pain pills.
She sat at her desk, wondering where to begin. The battleship. The latest report from Kommodor Marphissa had come in forty-eight hours ago. There was a constant status feed as well, of course, but . . .
Iceni caught herself on the verge of sending a hotly worded message to Marphissa. The Kommodor had done nothing to earn a tongue-lashing.
But that man she had heard about last night, on the other hand. Buthol?
A quick query on her news terminal popped up a list of articles as well as opinion pieces written by Buthol himself.
Buthol wanted elections now. Buthol suspected the President of diverting funds and demanded a full accounting of tax revenues. Buthol argued that only a full, perfect democracy of one person, one vote, in which every important matter was decided by the people rather than representatives, would be in the best interests of everyone.
The news reports all agreed that Buthol had few followers yet but was attracting more and more attention with his speeches and essays.
Iceni read it all with growing anger. Who the hell does he think he is? Accusing me of corruption? Of wanting to be a dictator just because I won’t hand the mob control of this star system the instant someone like him demands it?
“Togo! In here now!”
He arrived with a speed that suggested her tone of voice had been unusually demanding. “Yes, Madam President.”
“Why the hell haven’t you told me about this Kater Buthol?”
Togo blinked, then checked his reader. “Ah. Yes. He has few followers. He is being watched.”
“He is getting a great deal of attention. He is personally attacking me.”
“Madam President, you instructed us to let the low-level elections proceed without interference—”
“Unless something said or done constituted a threat!” She glared at Togo. “Hasn’t this Kater Buthol broken any laws?”
Togo shook his head. “He has been very careful to tread just on the legal side of everything. You could order him arrested, but the charges would have to be based on fabricated evidence. I could have that evidence ready by this evening.”
“That won’t help! The last thing I need is to give this clown more attention by making him into some kind of martyr.” She sat back and made a disgusted gesture. “This Buthol is exactly the sort of problem I don’t need on my plate at the moment! Find a solution! That’s all.”
“Yes, Madam President.” Togo left with more swiftness than usual.
She spent the rest of the day burying herself in work and trying to catch up on the low-level elections, which were supposed to alleviate pressure among the citizens for change. It wasn’t at all clear that the elections were accomplishing that goal.
Most disturbing were the occasional suggestions that General Drakon would make a good president. That for the good of the star system, and with the looming threat of a Syndicate attack, a new leader might be needed who could deal with such dangers. Had Drakon arranged those whispers? That was worrisome. But not as worrisome as the possibility that the citizens were coming to feel that way on their own. Obviously, there was a need to raise her profile with the people. They needed to know who had won the battles here and at Kane, who had acquired the battleship, who had forgotten far more about mobile forces tactics than General Drakon had ever learned.
By the time Iceni went to sleep, she had worked up the outline for such a public-relations campaign.
* * *
THE next morning, she made the error of ordering a larger breakfast, only to almost choke on a bite of food as she scanned news reports tagged for her based on recent search activity.
Police report that last night political agitator and candidate for neighborhood representative Kater Buthol was the victim of a robbery in which he apparently fought with his assailant and was shot in the resulting struggle. Buthol died before police arrived on the scene.
Iceni stared at the news item, wondering why it felt not just surprising, but shocking. I can’t fault the timing. Now I won’t have to lose any more sleep over that oaf, and Togo can—
Togo.
What did I tell Togo yesterday? What did I say?
Something about finding a solution for Buthol?
Which Togo could have thought meant I wanted him to get rid of Buthol.
For once in my life, I didn’t want to do that. For once, I wanted to handle it right.
And I might have ordered his death anyway.
She sat looking at her
display. Calling in Togo again would serve no purpose. He knew the drill. This wasn’t a routinely accepted thing like sending someone to a public firing squad for failing in their duty. Given the right excuse, anyone sufficiently low-ranking could be disposed of that way without any fuss. But not everyone who needed to be eliminated had committed an offense, and sometimes people who needed to be neutralized had powerful patrons. There were long-established ways of handling that to avoid any personal penalty for the action. If she asked Togo whether he had killed Buthol, or arranged for someone else to do it, he would deny it because that was what he would always do to give her deniability in the matter. She had not said, “Kill him.” Togo would not admit that he had killed him. How many times had they played that game to ensure that any trips to interrogation rooms operated by the ISS would prove fruitless for questioners?
Did you order him to be killed?
I did not tell anyone to kill him.
The subject registers truthful.
Why did it bother her that Buthol was possibly dead at her hand? That damned Marphissa and her speeches about protecting the people.
But it was also about protecting herself, and her people. I had meant to do something about that, to get assassination as a means of personnel management off the list of acceptable actions.
Maybe Drakon did it. Buthol said some bad things about him, too.
She hesitated, then called Drakon.
“Is something wrong?” he asked as soon as he saw her.
That was bad. She was so rattled that she was letting it show. “I was wondering, General, if there were any personnel let go in your office recently?” That code phrase was an old one, a subtle means of asking about assassinations.
Drakon took a while to answer. “No. Not recently,” he finally said.
Either he hadn’t ordered it, or he wouldn’t admit to it. She needed to talk to someone who would understand what had happened. But how could she admit to Drakon that she had possibly ordered a hit? Yes, CEOs ordering assassinations happened all the time, but it was still technically illegal even if a CEO ordered it. An admission of possible involvement would be evidence against her, handed to someone who could use that evidence to help gain total power in this star system for himself.