“He didn’t tell me otherwise,” Gozen said.
“Drakon isn’t a micromanager. He expects us to use our heads without being given explicit instructions all the time. But I gather you’re picking up on that.” Safir gestured to her soldiers, waiting off to one side of the command center, to stay where they were, then strode toward Drakon’s office.
Gozen inhaled slowly as she studied the security sweep, now almost complete. A few bugs concealed by the vipers had turned up, but nothing else. The vipers, it seemed, had only one mission, to kill Drakon.
Colonel Malin obviously wasn’t the only one who understood how important Drakon was.
Jason Boyens had endured a good many things in his rise to CEO status, including the exile to the Reserve Flotilla, capture by the Alliance, the close personal attention of the deadly Happy Hua, and a prolonged imprisonment on Midway while wondering whether Gwen Iceni and Artur Drakon would forgive his latest twists and turns or choose to get rid of him once and for all. By all rights he should be dead a dozen times over. But he had survived this far.
So he could endure this, too, walking up to a customs checkpoint at the orbital facility where Midway’s HuK had dropped off him and the nervous young man named Dingane Paige who had been Ulindi’s representative at Midway. The checkpoint bore the scars of fairly recent fighting when Drakon’s soldiers had wiped out the snakes who had once controlled this facility. The men and women occupying the security checkpoint wore obviously new uniforms and had the awkward stances of those new to their jobs.
Jason Boyens had to wonder how those new guards, whose world had been the scene of large-scale massacres by the Syndicate Internal Security Service, would take the appearance of a former Syndicate CEO.
He adopted a pose of quiet confidence. Not arrogant. That was the last thing he needed to project. But a sort of comradely assurance that he was part of whatever team Ulindi was trying to put together in the wake of the Syndicate’s expulsion.
But his careful effort was nearly undone by a strange sensation, a chill of fear down his spine as if death itself had passed close by him, known Boyens for who he was, eyed him with interest, then chosen to pass on.
Seriously rattled by the feeling, Boyens looked around hurriedly, trying to spot whoever had produced that reaction in him, but no one in the groups of people arriving or departing appeared to stand out or look out of place. Which only meant that whoever it was could blend in very well, a useful skill for thieves, swindlers… and assassins.
Boyens had been eyed appraisingly by assassins before, including those agonizing months with Happy Hua apparently itching for an excuse to conduct a field execution of him for any reason her own superiors might be willing to accept. But this had felt disturbingly familiar. For some reason it called up memories of meetings with Drakon and his two aides, Morgan and Malin, whose gazes could bear an uncomfortable similarity to that of a cat toying with a mouse.
But Morgan had died on Ulindi. And if he screwed up this first encounter with officials of Ulindi he might die here as well.
Boyens regained his poise with a major effort. By the time he finally reached the guards and presented his papers, knowing that he was being scanned by many devices designed to spot signs of fear or deceit, Boyens presented the perfect image of confidence and safety.
The older woman who took Boyens’s papers frowned at them, checked the display at her guard post, then frowned at him. “Boyens? Syndicate CEO?”
A cone of silence settled over a wide area around Boyens, conversations and activity halting, everyone turning to stare at him in disbelief that was rapidly turning to anger.
“Former CEO,” Boyens said, trying to make the CEO title seem like one he was reluctant to claim. Given the circumstances, he wasn’t faking that. He spoke loudly enough for his voice to carry, though even a whisper would have been audible in the hush that filled the area. “I came from Midway. You can see the endorsements on my papers, from President Iceni and General Drakon themselves.”
“They wanted him to come to Ulindi,” Dingane Paige said, sounding more confident as he talked to his peers.
Other guards had hastened over and were examining their readouts. “Iceni and Drakon? Those two really wanted him to come here?” one asked.
“Yes. I’m familiar with this region of space,” Boyens explained, doing his best to pretend that he was talking to another CEO rather than to a worker so his attitude would come across well. “I used to serve with the Reserve Flotilla.” He remembered conversations he had overheard as well as some Syndicate intelligence assessments and decided to add something else. “I was taken prisoner when the Flotilla was destroyed by Black Jack. He brought me back to Midway and released me.”
“You expect us to believe that?” a young woman demanded.
“It’s true.” Two more women had come over. Boyens hadn’t noticed them in his focus on the guards, but he saw they wore Syndicate uniforms that had had the Syndicate patches torn off. “We were shuttle pilots with the Reserve Flotilla,” the older of the two continued, jerking her thumb at her companion to include her in the statement. “We both saw him with the Flotilla. I flew him a few times.”
“I’m glad you survived,” Boyens said, trying desperately to recall the woman and wondering how he had treated her. Hopefully halfway decently at least.
“Got transferred off before the Flotilla got sent to Alliance space and hell,” the pilot answered. “This guy treated us all right,” the woman added. “He was a CEO, but he wasn’t an arrogant ass.”
“Everyone knew that Boyens wasn’t half-bad,” the other pilot commented, “for a CEO.”
“That’s not saying much,” one of the guards grumbled, staring at Boyens’s papers as if searching for a single comma out of place that could be used to justify arrest and interrogation.
“President Iceni asked me to come here,” Boyens repeated.
“He’s telling the truth,” another guard commented, eyes on the readouts.
“That’s a first for a CEO,” another added, bringing a ripple of angry laughter.
“Iceni was a CEO once, too. Why did President Iceni ask you to come to Ulindi?” the older pilot asked. “Last I heard, you were attacking Midway in command of a Syndicate flotilla.”
“Because I escaped,” Boyens said, phrasing his words carefully. “The snakes commanded that flotilla, not me. I had snake CEO Hua Boucher at my back every moment. I managed to prevent some actions by the snakes and kept it from accomplishing the Syndicate’s goals.” The first part of that sentence was true, but the second half was shading the truth considerably. Hopefully, the way he had phrased it, thinking of what Boucher really had accused him of doing, would keep the statement from showing up on the security sensors as deceptive. “I had to run when it became obvious I was going to be blamed for the flotilla’s failures. I brought important information to Midway. I wish I could have killed Boucher myself before I left, but the attempt would have been futile.” He didn’t have to worry whether that last statement would come across as true.
The commander of the checkpoint scratched his head, then shrugged. “I have to admit to a strong desire to just go ahead and shoot you now, but that’d be a snake thing to do. We’re going to, uh, take you into custody, though. Take you down and let the interim government talk to you. They’ll decide what to do.”
“That’s fine,” Boyens said, trying not to look too relieved. If he could get in the same room with the inexperienced people trying to run this star system he was certain that he could convince them that he would be useful to Ulindi. It would take some time to unobtrusively shift from being a source of advice to becoming someone in authority, but he had time. Only fools tried to rush things.