“But who will be in charge of those ground forces?” a woman demanded. “Who will tell us what to do?”
Drakon paused as he was about to head back to the shuttle, turning to face them all once more. “If you want my advice, and that’s all it is, advice, because I’m not going to tell you what to do, I would tell you to get together and decide which people you think can run things pretty well, who you know have looked out for the people around them and under them when they didn’t have to, and even when it caused them problems, and who don’t want the job of helping to run the planet. Put them in charge, and the minute any of them start acting like they’re better than you, replace them. You know how to run things. Just like every other place in Syndicate space, you’ve been keeping things running despite the Syndicate bureaucracy that existed to serve itself and the Syndicate CEOs who were just out for themselves and the snakes who did their best to weed out anyone who was ethical or smart or thought for themselves. So run things. There are lots of references in the underground library that talk about ways to run a star system that aren’t the Syndicate way. Whatever you decide on won’t be perfect, it never is, but if you start shooting at each other, that means you’re doing it wrong.”
He walked toward the shuttle but stopped and pivoted to say one more thing to the citizens who were staring after him. “And if you keep the labor camps open, if you lock up people for saying the wrong thing or for disagreeing with you like the Syndicate does, then you’re doing it wrong. Some of my people died to give you a chance at doing things better. A chance at freedom. Don’t waste it.”
As Drakon walked up the ramp and inside the shuttle, he wondered when he had become such a radical. Freedom. It had only been about survival and maintaining their own power when he had joined Gwen Iceni to revolt against the Syndicate.
Hadn’t it?
He settled into his seat as the shuttle rose into the sky, slewed about, and headed back toward the former Syndicate base. After a few moments of watching landscape scroll by on the display before his seat, Drakon called Malin. “Anything new?”
Malin nodded, his expression shadowed. “I picked up some interesting fragments of information, General. Not long before the snake alternate command center was bombarded and destroyed, there was a lot of chatter about Supreme CEO Haris having been assassinated.”
“Haris assassinated?” It would be nice to confirm the death of the former Supreme CEO who had overseen the murder of so many citizens, but… “Is there anything about who did it or how?”
“There are references to a lone assassin and gunfire, General. No other description.”
“Do we need more?” Drakon asked. “One person who penetrated security at a snake command center and killed their CEO with a gun?”
Malin smiled grimly. “It does sound like Colonel Morgan, sir.”
“What happened to her?”
“Unknown, sir. There is chatter about the assassination, a few details like the ones I mentioned, then nothing as the roof of the snake alternate command center literally fell in when Midway’s bombardment hit.” He gave Drakon an unreadable look. “At least it narrows down our search. If Colonel Morgan was in the snake alternate command center soon before it was destroyed, she must still be nearby.”
“Or in the rubble,” Drakon said, deliberately being brutally direct. “Bran, if Roh made it out alive, why hasn’t she contacted us?”
“You are asking me to rationalize the actions of Colonel Morgan, sir?”
He snorted a very brief laugh. “That’s a good point. But why did she go after Haris? That wasn’t part of her assignment here.”
Malin shook his head, looking down. “I don’t know, sir. Whatever reason Colonel Morgan had, it was a reason that made sense to her.”
“I’m sorry, Bran.”
“I’m not sure that I am, General,” Malin responded, his brow furrowed as if trying to solve the puzzle of his own emotions.
“Have we run into any hitches in the mop-up operations?” Drakon asked to spare Malin from having to internally examine in any detail his relationship to Morgan.
“No, sir. The few Syndicate support units still intact are surrendering as soon as our soldiers arrive. Ulindi is still a frontier world, with only a few cities of any size and not many towns worthy of the name, so we haven’t had to secure all that many locations.”
“If we had faced the problem of dealing with a really large population, we wouldn’t have tried this with only two brigades,” Drakon said. “Any word from the Kommodor?”
“We just received a message from her that eight of the ten Syndicate troop transports were captured. One other was destroyed by the snakes aboard it and the last sustained too much damage during its capture to be worth salvage and was scuttled.”
“Scuttled? What’s scuttled?”
“I believe Kommodor Marphissa picked up the term from Captain Bradamont,” Malin explained. “‘Scuttled’ is an ancient word still used by the Alliance fleet. It means ‘blown up.’”
“I suppose that’s better than the official Syndicate term ‘dissolution of the asset.’ Eight transports is more than enough troop-carrying capacity given the ground forces we have,” Drakon said, feeling a lift to his spirits. “We owe Executive Gozen a big debt for letting us know they were there.”
Malin frowned again. “You do realize, General, that the snakes would consider the loss of ten troop transports as a small price to pay for getting one of their undercover agents close to you.”
“You’ve cautioned me about Executive Gozen about a dozen times already, Colonel. I assure you that I have paid full attention to you each time,” Drakon said. “Especially given what I learned not long ago about secrets my closest aides were keeping from me.”
Malin had the good grace to openly flinch. “I understand, General. I just feel a duty to—”
“That’s fine. I don’t mind your watching Executive Gozen. If you find anything, any solid grounds for identifying her as a possible snake agent, I want to know it.”
“Yes, sir.” Malin hesitated. “Executive Gozen has asked to meet with you.”
“Patch her through. I have time to talk to her on the way back.”
“In person, sir.”
He thought about that, then nodded. “That’s probably a good idea. I can evaluate her better face-to-face than through a comm link. I’ve been thinking I should take a personal look at her soldiers, as well.”
Malin nodded resignedly. “Yes, sir. How many escorts, sir?”
“Just a couple. No battle armor. I want guards on hand if someone lunges at me, but I shouldn’t need more.”
“General, you do need more—”
“No. This is about my being so confident of my authority and my strength that I don’t need a swarm of bodyguards. I need to impress these soldiers, Bran, so none of them start thinking they can get away with anything. But I don’t want to impress them as being like a Syndicate CEO, and a lot of bodyguards would show them exactly that image.”
“Yes, sir.”
It was amazing how much emotion the normally impassive Malin could pack into two short words.