“How certain are you of success with taking over the flotilla?” Drakon asked.
“Certain enough. Some of the ships are already mine, including C-448. I have enough individual unit commanders committed to me to be able to beat Kolani. If Kolani refuses to go along with us, then she goes down, along with any warships that stay loyal to her. It’s not ideal. We could have used every one of those warships, and now some are likely to be destroyed. You just hold up your end and wipe out the snakes, then keep a lid on the security situation down here while I’m busy up there. We have to maintain order. The mob may take the destruction of the snakes as a license for anarchy. Once we’ve declared independence, you and I have to keep our control of this star system firm. We want ours to be the last revolt in this star system.”
Iceni had obviously thought about the questions that Malin had raised about what to do after the snakes were dead. Drakon hoped that Iceni’s ideas were ones he could live with. He also hoped they didn’t involve getting rid of the one other CEO, Drakon, who would be able to challenge her authority here after Hardrad was taken care of.
Iceni closed out her displays, then stood up and walked toward the door. “Any other questions?”
Drakon nodded, eyeing her again. “Yeah. Why are you really doing this?”
She stopped and gazed back at him. “You don’t think it’s self-interest?”
“I think that self-interest could have led in other directions. Getting me to sign off on rebellion, then turning me in to the snakes might have satisfied them that you were a good little loyal CEO and provided you with a cover for your own actions.”
Iceni smiled very briefly and humorlessly. “Then I’ll tell you that my motivation is to protect myself, this star system, and surrounding star systems. I need a safe place to maintain power and influence. Midway is the best place in this region to do that because we have the hypernet gate and also jump points to so many surrounding star systems. The Syndic system failed. That system started the war, failed to win it, and ultimately lost it. That system stripped the Reserve Flotilla from the Midway Star System, the only thing holding off the alien enigma race, and left us almost totally defenseless when the enigmas attacked us. The Alliance fleet had to save us. The Alliance, which we have always been taught is weak, disorganized, and corrupt because they let the citizens have a voice in who rules. You and I both know all too well how disorganized and corrupt the Syndicate system can be, and now it has proven to be weak as well.
“We need to try something else, and we can’t depend on anyone else. Maybe we’ll die trying, but I might well die anyway if I tried to cut and run with whatever wealth I could stuff onto a ship while this star system is threatened by the enigmas and by the chaos in some star systems that is following the collapse of Syndicate Worlds’ authority. So, I’m a pragmatist, Artur Drakon. Those are my reasons. Do you believe me?”
“No.” Drakon returned the same kind of smile that Iceni had given him. “Why didn’t you run when the enigmas threatened to attack if you’re so pragmatic?”
She paused as if deciding how to reply. “Because I was responsible for everyone in this star system, and I wouldn’t run when they were all trapped here.”
“You’re an idealist as well as a pragmatist?” Drakon asked, letting some sarcasm into his own tone now.
“You might say that, as long as you’re not being insulting.” Iceni gave him a smile which was mocking this time. “Don’t you believe I can be part idealist?”
“Not if it’s a very big part. Nobody survives as a CEO if they’re in any way an idealist.”
“Oh? And how did you end up at Midway?”
Drakon smiled sardonically at her. “I’m sure you already know that. The snakes tried to arrest one of my sub-CEOs, but someone tipped her off and she disappeared before they could grab her. I got blamed, but no one could prove anything, so I got exiled rather than shot.”
Iceni looked back at him steadily. “You don’t call someone willing to run those risks to protect a subordinate an idealist? What would you call a leader whose subordinates and soldiers were so loyal to him that the Syndicate sent them all here to get them isolated?”
“I do what I think is… appropriate,” Drakon said. “I can’t control how others see my actions or react to them. And whether or not I survive is still an open-ended question. I’ll do what I have to do, and I know the sort of things you’ve done in the past to maintain your power. But if you want to pretend those are your reasons, I’m willing to go along.”
“Fine. As long as you don’t double-cross me. If you do—”
“I’ll die?” Drakon asked, doing his best to sound nonchalant even though he was itching to rejoin his soldiers.
Iceni’s voice was just as relaxed as Drakon’s as she answered. “You’ll wish that you had died.” She opened the door and walked out, then waited for Drakon to exit as well before closing and alarming the entrance. “Good luck.” With that, Iceni headed off at a quick pace, her bodyguards taking up positions on all sides.
An hour and a half later, Artur Drakon knelt inside another building, only a single, hair-thin recon probe sticking out from his shoulder and over the edge of the nearby window, scanning the outer sections of the ISS headquarters complex through the sensors on his combat armor. The civilians who normally occupied this office were under guard in the basement, along with everyone else who worked in the building. In their place, soldiers in combat armor huddled in the halls and inner rooms, waiting for the assault on the ISS complex to begin. High on one wall, an ISS surveillance camera stared blankly into the room. Somewhere in the headquarters complex, systems were reviewing the feed supposedly coming from that camera and seeing only routine activity by the civilians who normally worked here. “Report,” Drakon ordered.
About one-third of the way around the perimeter, Malin’s voice came from his position. “Everything looks routine. No problem.”
On the other side of the perimeter, Morgan responded in a tone that mimicked Malin. “Everything looks routine. We’ve got a problem.”
“What’s the problem?” Drakon asked. They were speaking over a shielded comm line run overland through every obstacle. A major pain in the neck, but the only way to minimize the chances of any ISS surveillance gear that hadn’t been sabotaged picking up some of the transmissions. Two tin cans on a string. Millennia of communication advances and in the end we’re still depending on two tin cans on a string to make sure no one else hears us.
“The problem,” Morgan insisted, “is that everything looks normal. Even though we’ve spoofed the surveillance networks, the snakes must have picked up something from all of their other distributed monitoring gear. But they haven’t reacted at all that we can see. No messages to you or anyone else about the troop movements or anything. Routine security around the complex as far as we can tell. It stinks.”
“They could be uncertain,” Malin argued. “Trying to decipher the fragments that they’re seeing. We can’t afford to blow the element of surprise.”
“It’s already blown, moron.”
“That’s enough.” Drakon thought about Morgan’s argument as he studied the ISS complex again. “I haven’t had any messages from the snake brass today. They usually jump on me every day about what my troops are doing just to let me know I’m being watched. I think Morgan’s right. Has anyone seen any vipers moving around?”