Bradamont was staring, too, but suddenly gave out a burst of laughter. “She’s a genius!”
“A genius? Mercia just let the Syndicate flotilla know—”
“That’s why it’s genius,” Bradamont exulted, seeing the looks of incomprehension on the faces of both Diaz and Marphissa. “Don’t you see? Midway appeared to have severely damaged main propulsion. But now she has revealed that her main propulsion is fully functional. Midway also looks to have only a few weapons operational.”
Marphissa suddenly understood. “But now the Syndicate flotilla will think that is also a ruse? They will think maybe Midway is fully combat capable? And rushing to join the fight as soon as she saw an opening?”
“Yes! Rushing to block the retreat of the Syndicate formation so it can’t escape. It’s a deception inside a deception, using one deception to make outside observers believe that the real things they are seeing are also a deception.”
“What will CEO Boucher do?” Marphissa wondered.
A few minutes later, the answer became clear as the Syndicate flotilla veered down and thirty degrees to port. “They’re heading for the jump point for Kane,” Diaz said. “Why? Midway won’t be in position to block them from reaching the hypernet gate for nearly nine hours.”
“Boucher is panicking,” Marphissa said, hearing the satisfaction in her voice. “Nothing has gone right for her, she’s getting hit again and again, nearly all of her escorts have been destroyed, and now her battleship is threatened. She’s bolting along the nearest path to safety.”
Bradamont nodded. “I think you’re right. And it appears that CEO Boyens was accurate in saying that Boucher would have orders not to bombard this star system. Otherwise, she would probably be launching a vindictive bombardment right now. The Syndicate Worlds does want this star system back intact.”
“They won’t get it, intact or otherwise,” Marphissa vowed.
The life-support fans came back to life.
“Damn,” Diaz said, looking around as if he didn’t believe what he was seeing and hearing. “We won. And we’re still alive.”
“Yes,” Marphissa agreed. “Now get back down to engineering and make sure your senior specialists in their enthusiasm to conduct quick repairs don’t blow us up now that the battle is won.”
It had been nerve-wracking watching the battle play out, light-hours distant, unable to intervene and knowing that whatever she saw had long since happened. President Iceni poured out two drinks and offered one to General Drakon. They were alone in her office. “We should drink a toast to another victory over the Syndicate, General.”
“You have some disturbingly competent subordinates,” Drakon observed.
“My warship commanders are good, aren’t they?” Iceni asked, raising her glass in triumph. “We will live another day, General.”
“Does it worry you?” he asked, looking down at his own drink.
“Their competence? No. Both Marphissa and Kontos are very loyal to me.”
He made a sharp noise, halfway between a snort and a grunt. “Don’t assume that their loyalty will necessarily lead them to the actions you want them to do.”
“Point taken,” Iceni said. “But let’s not talk about your subordinates unless you want me to handle that situation.”
Drakon frowned at her. “Don’t touch Colonel Morgan. If anything is done to her, the child dies.”
“The child is a ways from being born yet,” Iceni pointed out. “And the child was only conceived because Morgan deceived you.”
“She’s still my daughter.” Drakon met Iceni’s eyes. “I’ve spent a lifetime at war, destroying things and killing people. In all my life, I’ve only had a part in creating one single thing. So, yes, the child matters to me.”
Iceni sighed again, loud enough for Drakon to hear her frustration. “I can understand your feelings, but do you want that daughter to be born? She will also be Colonel Morgan’s daughter. What would a child of hers be like?”
“I’ve thought about that,” Drakon said in a low voice.
“Have you? Are you thinking about your little girl bringing you crayon drawings of unicorns playing with children under rainbows to hang on your walls? Because if that little girl is anything like her mother, she is more likely to be using her crayons to draw images of wolves tearing apart helpless travelers during thunderstorms. Have you really thought about what a child of Colonel Morgan’s would be like? How could you know?”
He hesitated long enough for Gwen to worry, then shook his head and spoke as if bewildered. “I know what a child of hers would be like. I know her son.”
“Her son? Morgan has a son?” She was torn between incredulity at the news and anger that her aide Togo had not caught such an important fact when he had supposedly chased down all that could be known about Morgan. “Where is—?”
“He’s here,” Drakon interrupted. “Colonel Malin. He’s her son.”
Iceni only gradually realized that she had slumped backward, her mouth hanging open in shock. That’s why Malin refused to kill Morgan for me? He’s—? “But they’re almost the same age. How— That mission. When she was frozen in survival sleep.”
“For about twenty years,” Drakon said. “The baby, Malin, was removed from Morgan before the mission. Syndicate policy. Morgan never knew. She still doesn’t know.” The words came out quickly, followed by an abrupt silence as Drakon stared at Iceni.
You just figured out how powerful a weapon you blurted out to me? Iceni thought. If Morgan doesn’t know, and I threatened to tell her… hell hath no fury seems an apt description of what would happen next. “How are you intending to handle that situation?”
He actually smiled, though the smile held no humor at all. “I’m torn between denial and just shooting both of them.”
“I favor the second option, followed by denial.”
“If anything happens to Morgan—” Drakon began.
“Yes, yes. She’s set up mechanisms to ensure that the child dies. And if we try to find the surrogate carrying the child, that alone might trigger the child’s death. Very clever, very devious, very ruthless.” Iceni rested her chin on one hand as she gazed at him. “Have you considered the possibility that she also has backups?”
“Backups?”
“Clones. Morgan could have cloned the embryo and had the clones implanted in multiple surrogates.”
Drakon considered that, frowning deeply. “Full human cloning is so heavily regulated, and forbidden under almost all circumstances, that she would have had to have found a doctor willing to risk the consequences.”
“The CEOs running the Syndicate have no desire for identical copies of themselves to exist,” Iceni said. “All of those old stories about identical twins taking over from the originals are regarded as cautionary tales for modern-day CEOs. But you know how Syndicate society works just as well as I do. If there is a product, and any demand at all, there will be suppliers. And because parts can legally be cloned to ensure a sufficient supply of spare human organs, the expertise already openly exists.”
“And Morgan could have found people who could handle full human cloning if anyone could.” Drakon sat straighter, meeting her eyes defiantly. “I want it understood that this is my situation to deal with.”
Iceni waved an aggravated gesture toward him. “As long as it does not threaten me, you can play whatever games you like. I may control the warships, but you control the ground forces. I insist, however, that Colonel Morgan never be seen or heard by me again. Do whatever you have to in order to control her and protect your precious offspring, but if I personally see Morgan again, I will order my bodyguards to act.”