They were all escorted into the same armored limo, an action that also surprised Rogero, Drakon and Iceni sitting in the plush seats on one side while Rogero and Bradamont took the other. Drakon relaxed a bit once the armored doors sealed and the vehicle began moving.
Iceni gave Bradamont a stern look. “So, Captain Bradamont—”
Bradamont interrupted. “As I am sure General Drakon has explained, Madam President, I am no longer entitled to that rank.”
“What?” Rogero stared at her.
“Wait,” Iceni told him, then looked at Bradamont again. “I am the president of this star system and you are entitled to anything I think you are entitled to!” Iceni crossed her arms, studying Bradamont. “I have already formally accepted the deal agreed to by General Drakon. I understand that the details still need to be worked out. I’ll offer you the rank of Kommodor in Midway’s forces. You’ll be coequal with Kommodor Marphissa, both reporting to me. You’ll get all of the status, perks, and pay that come with that rank, with seniority based upon your total time in service, including with the Alliance. I will respect whatever agreements you made with the Alliance and not demand that you divulge any secrets or other protected information except at your own discretion. And you will be permitted to wear your Alliance awards and ribbons. As you no doubt expect, there is one catch to the deal.”
“One catch?” Bradamont, who had been listening with growing amazement, looked warily at Iceni. “What is the catch, Madam President?”
“That you must continue to speak to me as frankly as you have in the past, offering your best assessments and advice, and not hesitating to point out any problems you perceive. Can you agree to those terms?”
“I…” Bradamont swallowed, regained her poise, and shot a glance at Rogero before replying. “You are extremely generous, Madam President. I accept your offer and am honored that you consider me worthy of it.”
Iceni snorted derisively. “Do you know how badly I’ve wanted to have a second Kommodor I could count on? I assure you that I am getting by far the best of this deal. Perhaps Colonel Rogero can teach you to bargain better. You can make the formal commitment as a Kommodor in Midway’s forces tomorrow and keep calling yourself captain until then if you like.”
“May I make one request?” Bradamont asked. “The uniforms that Midway uses, they are still obviously Syndicate in origin, and if I am to wear one I was hoping they might be further modified—”
Iceni waved away her words. “I’ve been meaning to get the uniforms changed, but something always comes up to distract me. Make that one of your first priorities as a Kommodor.”
“What?” Rogero repeated. He had been listening with a look of growing incredulity and incomprehension. “What is going on?”
“Explain things to him,” Iceni told Bradamont. “And while you’re making the commitment to Midway you might kill two birds with one stone and make another more personal commitment, if your colonel isn’t too hesitant.”
She sat back next to Drakon, who knew he was smiling, while Bradamont talked quickly in a low voice to Rogero, who seemed unable to decide on which emotion to fix on his face. “What about you and me, Artur?” Iceni asked. “Still ready for that?”
“Yes,” he said. “Colonel Gozen filled out the forms, so they’d be ready for us.”
“How very romantic of you. Why do you sound worried?”
Drakon decided not to mince words. “Because after we submit the forms, there’s a legally mandated twenty-four-hour cooling-off period, and you and I can’t afford to ignore that when we’re trying to make laws mean something. No matter how we protect the forms from disclosure, someone with sufficient hacking skills can find them and make their own preparations.”
“Morgan and Togo?” Iceni gazed into the distance. “Neither of them would pass that up, would they?”
“It’s predictable that they’d try for us then, but I’m willing to bet that both will think we’ll be complacent about the amount of security around the ceremony, and they’ll believe that they can each overcome that security.”
“They wouldn’t use any major weapons,” Iceni mused. “Morgan wants me dead, Togo wants you dead, and neither wants to inflict collateral damage on the other of us. At least we don’t have to worry about mass destruction weapons.”
“I was afraid you’d want to put it off, given the threat,” Drakon confessed.
“No. Let’s get this done, let’s get everything resolved, if we can. Because we can’t live with this forever.”
“General?” Rogero asked with uncharacteristic hesitancy. “I wish to request permission to—”
Drakon cut him off. “Oh, hell, Donal, you know you have permission. Go ahead and file the forms.”
“After you discuss terms,” Iceni said. “The general and I have staffs to review our terms. You two should make sure you are individually covered.”
“We only held back,” Rogero explained, “because we assumed she would be returning to the Alliance and… we don’t need to discuss terms. Anything she wants,” he added, gazing at Bradamont with a broad grin.
Iceni shook her head. “Neither of you can bargain. I suppose it’s better that you partner each other rather than both of you wandering around waiting to be taken advantage of by someone else.”
Twenty-four hours later, Drakon was wearing his dress uniform, which was liberally salted with weapons and defensive measures that were invisible to outside appearance. He was all too aware that for every defense there was a countermeasure, and any weapon was useless unless you got a chance to employ it.
Surrounded by bodyguards, he walked into the Presidential complex. The bodyguards took up positions guarding doors and hallways as he walked, their numbers gradually dwindling until Drakon reached the last door alone.
Colonel Bran Malin waited there. Just Malin. That felt wrong, after so many years in which Malin and Morgan had been Drakon’s right and left hands. But he had never broken faith with her. She was not here today because of Morgan’s own choices.
Drakon could not help worrying about what choices Morgan might make today.
Malin saluted, looking as happy as Drakon had ever seen him. It wasn’t much in the way of joy, but for Malin it was a lot. “This is an important moment,” he said.
“I like to think so,” Drakon said.
Malin blinked as if trying to understand the joke. “Oh. Yes. For you and for President Iceni. But also in terms of creating a stable governing structure—”
“Thank you, Bran. That’s not why we’re doing it. Anything to report?”
He shook his head. “No sign of either of them, sir.”
“Bran, if there is anyone in this universe who might understand what Morgan is up to, it would be you.” Drakon saw Malin stiffen a bit more, plainly unhappy at having his relationship to Morgan mentioned. “How much do I have to worry about her? Because I would much rather focus on worrying about Togo.”
Malin did not answer for a long moment. “Morgan would never do anything that she did not think was in your best interests,” he finally said. “As you are fully aware, General, her judgment on what is in your best interests can be seriously flawed. She will not attack you. But she may attack anyone who she thinks is a hindrance to you.”
“Did she ever seriously attempt to kill you, Bran?”