“I see,” Akiri agreed hastily, then busied himself working with his display.
From the corner of her eye, Iceni could see a well-concealed but still-apparent look of disdain on Marphissa. None of the line workers on the bridge betrayed any signs of noticing what had happened, however, which implied that this sort of scene had played out before, most likely when CEO Kolani browbeat Akiri. When Iceni had heard that Kolani had more than once publicly raked Akiri over the coals, she had known that would make Akiri easy to recruit. But Iceni also found herself sympathetic to why Kolani would have chewed out Akiri and wondering why Kolani hadn’t already replaced him. Kolani wasn’t known for a high degree of tolerance for workers who didn’t do their jobs to her standards. And there wasn’t anything in Akiri’s personal record that should have inhibited Kolani from sacking him. There was an inconsistency in her treatment of Akiri, a problem that Iceni bookmarked in her brain to come back to and investigate when time permitted.
At the moment, though, she had to endure a forced period of waiting while still staying alert and focused. Waiting until replies came from Kolani and the other mobile forces ten light-minutes distant. Waiting until she knew how well Drakon’s attacks had succeeded. Or failed. Iceni found her eyes resting on the portion of her display showing the surface of the planet below this cruiser. ISS facilities were highlighted because of the fighting at those locations. If she received information that one or more of Drakon’s attacks had failed, it wouldn’t be hard at all to designate one or more of those facilities as a bombardment target. Point, assign, launch. Simple. And part of a city, and everyone living in that area, would be destroyed.
I launched bombardments at Alliance worlds. That wasn’t hard. I didn’t think about the citizens under those aiming points. Are people in the Alliance called citizens? Why don’t I know the answer to that? I killed them, and I don’t even know what they called themselves.
Of course, that made it easier to kill them.
I never had to participate in an internal stability operation, dropping a bombardment on one of our own worlds to quell rebellion or riot. I was lucky. But here I am potentially facing the same decision.
Was Black Jack really sent by the living stars to stop us? He also stopped the Alliance from bombarding civilians. Was he meant to? My father told me of the stars that watch over us all, but it has been so long, and I’m no longer sure how much of that I accept. I’ve seen that the men and women who gained the most power in the Syndicate Worlds were the ones who would stop at nothing. Why weren’t they stopped? I’ve seen the aftermath of Alliance bombardments of our worlds. I didn’t see many signs there of something caring about the helpless or the weak. You had to stay strong, or you got hurt. Why would something that cared about us wait so long to do anything?
But we did lose, and the Alliance won. And right now, the meanest, most unforgiving part of the Syndicate Worlds, the snakes of the ISS, are dying inside their own fortresses.
Her eyes were locked on one of the ISS symbols, one of the spots where she could order a bombardment to fall. All right, living stars. My father said you were supposed to guide us as to right or wrong. You told Black Jack what to do? Tell me. Should I ensure that nest of snakes is cleaned out even if it costs the city and citizens around it? Or should I avoid doing the most practical and easiest thing because it would hurt those citizens that I’m responsible for even though those citizens can always be replaced?
Go ahead. If really you’re out there somewhere, tell me.
“Madam CEO,” the operations line worker reported. “The mobile forces with CEO Kolani have been seen to alter vector. They appear to be coming around to close on our position.”
Executive Marphissa nodded. “Based on the timing, they reacted when they saw the attacks against the ISS on the surface.”
Iceni’s own answering nod was sharp. Why hadn’t she heard from Drakon on how things were going? She couldn’t—
It took her a moment to realize what she was seeing. The symbol for the ISS facility that Iceni had been watching had altered in the last few seconds. Instead of beaconing an ISS identification, it now glowed with an indicator saying that it belonged to the ground forces.
Other ISS facilities were changing as she watched, changing from poisonous yellow to bold green. “Try to get comms to CEO Drakon,” she ordered. “He—”
At that point, Iceni abruptly remembered her last thoughts before the line worker had interrupted them. She stared at those symbols for a second, then two. Was I answered? It’s probably just coincidence. Surely just…
“Madam CEO?” Marphissa asked.
“Drakon should be at the main ISS headquarters. Try to get in touch with him there,” Iceni ordered, putting extra snap in her command to cover up her momentary loss of self-possession.
Two minutes passed, while Iceni’s glower deepened and Akiri began looking desperate again, himself glaring at the comm line worker.
Fortunately for the line worker, another message came in.
CEO Kolani hadn’t looked so unhappy since the Alliance fleet had last waltzed unhindered through this star system. She stared at Iceni so viciously that it was as if she were actually seeing Iceni before her. It took Iceni a moment to recall that this message had been sent ten minutes ago. “Former CEO Iceni, you are hereby relieved of all authority and ordered to surrender yourself to loyal representatives of the Syndicate Worlds. I am assuming full authority in this star system until the unlawful actions of the ground forces have been halted and their leaders, including former CEO Drakon, have been dealt with.”
“She sent this five minutes after the ISS facilities on the surface were attacked?” Iceni asked.
“Yes, Madam CEO.”
For some reason that made Iceni want to laugh, so she did. “CEO Kolani didn’t even give me a chance to rebel before she tried to take over.” But then Kolani had been talking to Hardrad about that delayed order and implicating Iceni in that matter, if Hardrad could be trusted on that count. Hardrad can’t be trusted on any count, but in this case telling me the truth about Kolani’s suspicions would have served his purposes, and I already knew how Kolani feels about me.
She looked at Akiri. “Tell the mobile forces with us to bring themselves to full combat alert, and make sure their true readiness status is sent onward to Kolani’s group.”
An alarm sounded, followed by a rippling of Iceni’s display before the virtual images solidified again. “What happened?”
“A virus,” Marphissa reported. “Delivered in the net connecting us to the rest of the flotilla. It tried to activate the worms planted by the snakes, but we’d already purged them.”
Damn. “Can we put filters between us and the mobile forces loyal to Kolani?”
“That’s what stopped the virus, Madam CEO. I can’t guarantee that the filters will stop the next one.”
Double damn. “Break the net connections to Kolani’s warships.”
“War—?” Marphissa started to ask, then caught herself. “Yes, Madam CEO. What about the… warships at the main facility? Anything they tried to send would take an hour and a half to get here, and anything CEO Kolani tried to relay through them would take more than three hours.”