Iceni twisted her mouth. “Shot by the senior snake on board when he appeared to be wavering in his duties. Freo Mercia then shot the snake, ordered her crew to finish off the rest, and continued the battle with the Alliance until her battleship was too badly damaged to fight.”
“She sounds like a very good choice,” Drakon agreed.
“You deserve the chance to evaluate her, given the power we’re thinking about placing under her control. I’ll send her to you for a personal interview. We’ve been bringing the Reserve Flotilla survivors down to the surface since Kommodor Marphissa escorted the freighters into orbit. I understand that Colonel Rogero made it back to you safely?”
“He and Captain Bradamont,” Drakon said. “What do you think about that riot on the freighter?”
“It could be explained by resentment of an Alliance officer,” Iceni said slowly, “but . . .”
“Yeah. But. Colonel Rogero recommended careful screening of everyone on those freighters, which you are already doing.”
The vehicle slowed to a gentle stop. “Here we are,” Iceni said. “You can return to the safety of your staff, and I can reassure mine that I remain intact despite being alone with you.”
“Gwen . . .”
“Yes?”
Drakon shook his head. “Nothing.”
He left her wondering what he had almost said.
“Why did she invite us to this?” Morgan asked darkly.
“To emphasize that General Drakon is co-ruler of this star system,” Malin replied in his most patronizing voice.
“He’s not co-ruler of the mobile forces,” Morgan shot back. “Is this supposed to make us think he has any authority over them? A play act to make the General feel appreciated when it doesn’t actually mean a damned thing?”
“That’s not what President Iceni intends.”
“And just how do you know what President Iceni intends?” Morgan demanded, her eyes smoldering with suspicion.
Malin gave her back the look of an innocent man trying to understand the charges against him. “I listen. I have sources, and I listen. If you did the same, you would know why President Iceni is rushing the acceptance of this group of former supervisors so they can be sent out to the battle cruiser to help get it fully operational as soon as possible.”
“You listen?” Morgan smiled at Malin with such vast insincerity that Drakon almost laughed but caught himself in time. “I listen, too. I hear lots of things. Among them is that some of Iceni’s sources in the Syndicate sent a message on that last freighter that passed through this star system. A message saying that another attack by the Syndicate against us is being prepped right now. Do you want to know what I hear about you?”
“If it was anything you had proof of, you would have brought it to the General already,” Malin replied coldly.
“Behave yourselves in there,” Drakon told them both. “I don’t want the President to see my staff acting like a couple of quarreling kids.”
“Yes, sir,” Morgan replied, her expression perfectly serious. “But he started it.” She broke into a sharp laugh.
They entered the moderately sized auditorium selected for the ceremony. President Iceni, trailed by her bodyguard/assistant Togo, was just coming in from another door. In front of them all, three rows of former Syndicate supervisors who had once been executives and sub-CEOs of varying ranks stood at attention in their new uniforms as Leytenants and Kapitan-Leytenants.
Colonel Rogero also awaited them, saluting at the sight of Drakon.
Iceni came to a stop near Rogero. “It is only fitting that the man who played such a large role in the rescue of these personnel from an Alliance prison camp should be present as they join our forces,” she said.
Drakon, who had been told by Rogero of his invitation, returned the salute and nodded to Iceni. “The Kommodor couldn’t be here?”
“The Kommodor is with her flotilla,” Iceni said. “We have reports that another Syndicate attack could come at any time.”
“Really?” Drakon looked back at Morgan and Malin to subtly acknowledge the accuracy of their information, catching Morgan looking flatly toward Rogero as if waiting for a single betraying gesture.
As he looked back toward the rows of new officers, Drakon spotted one who seemed barely able to contain her happiness. He recognized her from the reports Rogero had provided. Former Executive Ito. She caught Rogero’s eye and smiled very quickly before returning her expression to a militarily correct rigidity.
Iceni gave a speech. Drakon felt his attention wandering, his eyes scanning the new officers, wondering what had led them to choose the risks of fighting for Midway over returning to Syndicate-controlled space. They had all been screened to ensure they would be loyal to him and Iceni, but Drakon had long since learned never to take such things for granted.
As Iceni finished, the new officers saluted her, and chorused “for the people!”
The ranks broke, the officers talking excitedly among themselves. Iceni turned to speak to Togo.
Newly appointed Kapitan-Leytenant Ito strode toward Rogero, openly smiling, then veered toward Drakon. She saluted him proudly. Drakon returned the gesture, aware that Malin had taken a couple of steps closer to him, as if prepared to make some remark.
Ito took another step toward Drakon, still smiling, right hand raised slightly and held out. “General,” she began, “may I presume to ask—”
Malin’s moves were so fast they blurred. One moment he was standing to the side of Ito and Drakon, the next he had his right hand locked on Ito’s right wrist. Malin’s left hand grasped his sidearm, the barrel of which was resting on Ito’s temple.
Chapter Eighteen
No one moved for several seconds, though Togo seemed to have teleported to a position between Iceni and Malin, one hand concealed under his jacket.
Finally, Iceni spoke, her voice angry. “Another one of your officers has drawn a weapon in my presence, General. What is the meaning of this?”
“Colonel Malin?” Drakon asked, making sure that his voice carried the promise that Malin’s explanation had better be a good one.
“She’s a snake,” Malin said, his own voice as calm as if he were giving a routine briefing. “Check the palm of her right hand. Carefully, without touching it.”
Ito’s hand twitched, and muscles stood out on her arm as she tried to move it, but Malin’s iron grip held the hand motionless.
Iceni gestured to Togo. “Do it.”
Togo, betraying no sign of what he felt about Malin’s actions, walked forward and scanned Ito’s exposed palm with an instrument that appeared in his left hand, then bent slightly to study it closely. “Poison,” he announced. “Contact poison, absorbed through the skin.”
“How can she have it on her palm?” Rogero demanded, looking shocked.
“There is a very thin protective surface.” Togo produced a knife, using the blade to gently pry at the edge of Ito’s palm. The knife slid and pulled away, taking what looked like a translucent layer of skin with it. “Whoever she touched with this palm would have died within a short time of sudden, catastrophic heart failure.”
Drakon looked at Ito’s right hand, held rigidly by Malin so that it still extended toward him. “How did you know?” he asked Malin.
Malin hadn’t moved at all, his weapon still rigid against Ito’s skull. “I have been tracking snakes for a long time, General, as you ordered me to, with particular emphasis on finding covert snake agents among the ground forces and the mobile forces. Executive Ito came to my attention before the Reserve Flotilla left here because a higher-than-usual number of supervisory personnel on her ship had been pulled in for questioning or outright arrest by the snakes. My investigations determined Ito herself had made some statements criticizing the Syndicate government. However, Ito was never called in by the snakes.”