“Of course not,” Drakon snapped back at her. He had gotten to know Iceni a lot better, had been able to learn more about the person behind the once-CEO and now-President, and he had found himself both having more (probably irrational) faith in her and enjoying their meetings. But none of those things were influencing him now. He was certain of that. “We need Iceni. If we get through this somehow, we need her control of the warships.”
“Once the enigmas are done here, there won’t be any warships,” Morgan pointed out. “Except theirs.”
“Stand down the snipers immediately. I don’t want any accidents.”
“You need to—”
“I need to have my orders obeyed, Colonel Morgan!”
That might have been too loud for even the personal jammers to completely mask. No one actually looked toward Drakon and Morgan, because everyone in this command center knew better than to appear as if they were aware of any arguments among superiors, but he could sense a stiffening among those nearest, as if they were trying very hard to overcome the natural impulse to glance at the sound of rising voices.
Colonel Malin, normally very sensitive to Drakon’s moods, now seemed totally absorbed in his own work. As much as he disliked Morgan, he also knew better than to let Drakon see him taking any interest or pleasure in her being chewed out.
Drakon took a long, slow breath before speaking again, not looking at Morgan’s furious eyes, gazing out of a face gone stone-cold. “I have my reasons. I always have my reasons for taking a chance on someone.”
He knew she would catch the reference. Morgan herself, judged barely stable enough for duty after a disastrous mission into enigma space, had been turned down by every other commanding officer until Drakon gave her an opportunity.
The fury in Morgan flickered, and her mouth twitched, then she abruptly went back into projecting jaded amusement. “Sometimes that might work out. But I’m one of a kind, General.”
Fortunately, Drakon thought. Could the universe handle more than one Roh Morgan? “Get the snipers stood down and work with Rogero, Kai, and Gaiene to get forces deployed to defend against a landing. We’ve got plenty of time to get people dispersed and dug in. Maybe the enigmas will sit in orbit and bombard us to hell, but if the enigmas want this planet in any shape for them to use, they’ll have to come down here and take it from us. I intend making sure the price they pay will be one they remember.”
Morgan grinned wolfishly and tapped the sidearm holstered at her hip. “If they do come down here, I can look one in the eyes as I nail it.”
“And as it nails you,” Malin said.
“It’s been tried,” Morgan replied, her tone teasing now. “Unsuccessfully.”
Malin didn’t flinch at the reference to an incident on an orbital platform in which his shot had narrowly missed Morgan before nailing an enemy. That incident had looked to Drakon all too much like an attempt to kill Morgan under cover of a firefight, but Malin had insisted otherwise, and the shot had killed a dangerous opponent.
Malin looked back at Morgan for a moment, his expression unreadable. “Perhaps you will die in enigma-controlled space after all.”
“You sound unhappy at the idea.”
“You’re imagining things,” Malin said, then turned to his display.
Drakon studied the display grimly as Morgan left to carry out his orders. Hopefully all of his orders. “Colonel Malin, ensure that none of our personnel are on any kind of alert status near this installation.”
“I’ll check on it, General. If there are any nearby, what am I to do?”
“Ensure that they’re stood down and returned to their units.” If only Morgan weren’t so valuable as an assistant. But then, the more valuable people were, the more difficult they seemed to be to live with. Drakon had seen a number of CEOs who got rid of anyone who was hard to live with and instead surrounded themselves with people who caused no drama or problems at all. No problems at all, except for letting the CEOs in question go down in flames through sheer ineptitude, lack of initiative, lack of imagination, and/or lack of brains. Neither Malin nor Morgan was an easy subordinate, but they had bailed him out more than once in situations where kowtowing, compliant assistants would have been overmatched. “How is internal security going? Have the citizens figured out what’s happening?”
“Word is spreading rapidly,” Malin said, “but so far the citizens are not panicking.” He looked thoughtful. “This may seem an inopportune time to mention the upcoming elections that you and President Iceni have allowed to go forward for low-level political positions—”
“It’s a damned inopportune time,” Drakon broke in roughly.
“But, General, you should be aware that a substantial number of the candidates for office have contacted local appointed authorities and asked if they can assist in keeping the citizens calm.”
Drakon frowned in surprise. “They’re taking responsibility for that? Even though they haven’t been elected yet and may not be elected?”
“Apparently,” Malin said, “many of the individuals running for office have already been playing leadership roles among the citizens though in underground, unauthorized ways. The opportunity to participate in real elections has convinced the people who are unofficial leaders to come out into the open.”
“I should have expected that,” Drakon said. Just how “real” the elections would actually be was a matter he and Iceni were still debating, but even the maximum level of vote manipulation being considered by them was a pale shadow of the total farce that Syndicate elections had been.
But it seemed that offering the citizens a real buy-in to the government, even if a low-level one, had already produced some benefits. Drakon bent his head, thinking. “Make sure we keep track of everyone who offers to help and check back after this is over to see how successful they were.” Odds were that after this was over, they would all be dead, but it never hurt to plan for the future even when that seemed insanely optimistic.
Out of the corner of his eye, Drakon could see Togo backing away from Iceni, an uncharacteristic amount of unhappiness visible on Togo’s normally impassive face. But, unhappy or not, Togo nodded in acknowledgment of some instruction and left the command center.
Iceni looked around, focused on Drakon and walked briskly back over to him. He admired the walk, and not just because Iceni had the sort of walk any man would enjoy watching. She also knew exactly how to pace it. Just fast enough to communicate urgency and control but not so fast as to give the impression of fear or worry about being able to handle whatever happened.
She stopped near him, still radiating apparent confidence but her eyes questioning. “Will you be staying at the command center, General?”
“Yes. Are you going to stay, too, or are you planning on restructuring your business model?” It was an old joke, perhaps as old as the Syndicate Worlds, a semipolite way of asking if someone was preparing to abandon former partners and cut their losses.
Iceni’s gaze on him didn’t waver. “I think I will stay. Restructuring doesn’t seem like the most profitable option at the moment.”
“But staying does?” Drakon asked. “That’s an odd business plan.”
“I’m not running a business,” Iceni said, her voice growing harder. “I’m responsible for… many other things. This is the best place to monitor events and pass on orders to Kommodor Marphissa as our warships defend this star system.” Iceni looked toward the display as if the situation shown there were, if not favorable, at least survivable.
Drakon took one step closer and spoke quietly. “Careful. You’re very good, but if you look too confident in the face of this, the workers might think you’re insane.”