“That’s the problem with hate, isn’t it?” Garadun said. “It’s very easy for hate to hit the wrong targets. Yes, I know that. I always have. I couldn’t change my feelings about the Alliance, but I could stay aware of the mistakes those feelings might cause me to make. Collapsing that gate at Varandal might have been the worst such mistake, and in that case I didn’t realize it until now.” The air lock cycled open. “Here’s my ride. Thank you, Donal. I have a life again. I won’t waste it.”
“See you don’t,” Rogero advised, as Garadun entered the air lock, followed by other workers and junior supervisors who had chosen to leave the freighter at Atalia.
“I’ll see you at Midway!” Ito called before the air-lock hatch sealed. “Can we talk?” she asked Rogero.
“Of course. Help me carry my armor back to my quarters.”
Ito wrinkled her nose. “Even with this air, I can smell that. Better clean it out.”
“I’ve done it plenty of times before after a long fight,” Rogero said. “Have you discovered anything about that riot?”
“That’s what I wanted to talk about,” she said, falling into step beside him. “None of the workers knows who motivated it. Just the usual somebody said something and everybody was doing it nonsense.” She snorted in derision. “Sheep.”
“What about the wounded?”
“The wounded? Oh, you mean the two injured workers? One died.” Ito didn’t sound concerned about that. “The other will be able to return to duty eventually if you don’t want to execute her as a lesson to the others. Those two didn’t know anything, either.”
“It was planned,” Rogero said. “Someone planned that and led it, and I very much doubt that whoever motivated that mob was anywhere near the forefront of the action. More likely they were a ways back from it, building an alibi.”
“You’re right. But anybody who knew who that was must have died when you put down the riot. I used the portable ground forces interrogation gear you guys brought. It’s not great, but it’s good enough. None of those workers were trained to handle interrogation.”
“What about the grenade?” Rogero asked. “I was able to determine that it was stolen from our supplies, not delivered to someone by one of my soldiers. That theft took considerable skill, getting past the alarms set in that cargo area and leaving no trace of the intrusion. But there was only one grenade missing.”
“You probably killed the one who got it from whoever stole it,” Ito said. “He or she had to have been at the front of the mob to toss it through the door when they got it partway open. They only took one because if they had taken two, we might have found it during a search after the riot; and then we would know who was behind everything.”
“Most likely,” Rogero agreed. “Whoever planned this did a professional job. They need to be caught.”
“And killed?”
“Probably. After they answer a few questions.”
“So,” Ito said, “tell me something. You killed all the snakes at Midway? What did the workers do without the snakes keeping them down? They must have rioted. Did you have to do a compliance action on the whole planet?”
Rogero’s memory filled with images of the nearly hysterical crowds, which had celebrated the deaths of the snakes on Midway and the destruction of the Internal Security Service headquarters by General Drakon’s soldiers. He had seen the trouble developing, he had known the celebration was growing more frenzied and would soon descend into riot. “No. I could tell things were going to get out of hand. But they didn’t. General Drakon sent us out, but he sent us out to enlist the citizens in preventing the celebration from turning into a rampage of looting and destruction.”
“Enlist them?” Ito asked. “You mean he drafted a lot of them to use for locking down the rest?”
“No. General Drakon talked to the citizens. He told them they needed to keep anyone from using their freedom to harm the rest of them. He told them any surviving snakes might try to convince them to riot and destroy things. He got the police on the streets, with our backup. He went out himself on the streets, and calmed everyone, got everyone to think about tomorrow, and what they needed to do to keep themselves and their families safe.”
Ito was watching him with a baffled expression. “But he also threatened them.” She made it a statement, not a question.
“No,” Rogero said. “He and President Iceni told the people that they must act responsibly, and made it clear that anyone who didn’t would be dealt with.”
“That’s a threat,” Ito concluded. “How much unrest has there been since then?”
“Very little. Demonstrations, yes. President Iceni permits those as long as everyone behaves. It lets the people know they have a real voice.”
They reached his quarters, and Ito left Rogero to the familiar but tedious job of cleaning out his armor. I love you most dearly, Honore, but you stink remarkably after a few days in armor. I won’t be telling you that to your face, though.
I haven’t thought much about those days right after the revolt when we killed the snakes at Midway. There’s been too much else to keep me busy. But what would have happened if General Drakon and President Iceni had ordered Syndicate methods be used to suppress the citizens? We would have been on constant garrison duty, fighting to keep a rebellious people from doing to us what we had done to the snakes.
We were given the leaders we needed, when we needed them. I must remain grateful for that, because Honore told me of many other star systems that lacked such leaders and have paid an awful price. I’ve heard about Taroa and some of the things that happened there. Was it coincidence that we had both Drakon and Iceni? I think not. Who or what do I thank for our good fortune?
Not the people. This was beyond our powers.
Marphissa watched Bradamont board Manticore and could not help but hug her in welcome. “You made it back.”
Bradamont laughed, surprised by the gesture. She had dark circles of fatigue under her eyes and smelled like she had been buried for a few days and dug up. “I was wondering if I would make it back. I’ve been wearing battle armor nonstop for a while.”
“No wonder,” Marphissa said.
“No wonder what?”
“Nothing! I’m sure you want to clean up and rest. Don’t worry about anything else. We’ll get the one thousand three hundred twenty six Syndicate lovers dropped off and head back for the jump point. Life support on the freighters will gradually recover with the load on them reduced, and with any luck, we won’t need you again on this trip.”
“Don’t jinx me,” Bradamont cautioned. “Not everyone we’re leaving is a Syndicate lover, Asima. Some just didn’t want to go to Midway.”
“Their mistake.”
“Did Atalia give you much trouble about accepting them?”
Marphissa grinned. “I’ve been around President Iceni enough to know how to do these things. I didn’t ask Atalia if they’d accept them. I told Atalia they were getting them. Atalia decided not to argue since I had so much more firepower than they do.”
“Don’t learn the wrong lessons, Asima.”
Marphissa paused at Bradamont’s stateroom before heading back to the bridge. “Let me tell you something, Honore. You’re on Manticore. Keep your hatch locked as usual, but you’re safe here.”
Bradamont smiled wanly. “You warned me about the crew, remember?”
“That was before. You’ve been on board awhile. They know you. Then word got around about that riot. To them, Manticore’s Alliance officer, their Alliance officer, was almost killed by a bunch of louts from the Reserve Flotilla. They may not love you, but you belong to Manticore. That’s what they’re thinking. You’ll be safe here,” Marphissa repeated.