“Who ordered the execution?” Drakon demanded, nettled that something like that had happened without his knowledge.
“Supposedly, the orders came from the President,” Morgan said. “But those orders all came through her goon.”
“That assistant of hers? Togo?”
“Right.” Morgan cocked one questioning eyebrow. “I wonder what we might have found out if we’d had a chance to talk to this supervisor?”
Had that supervisor stumbled across something they weren’t supposed to know? Drakon glared at the situation display. “We know there was a problem with that one heavy cruiser that the President left behind. Was it related to that? What were the charges against this supervisor?”
“Corruption,” Morgan replied. “One of the one-size-fits-all charges. They actually did a show trial, even though that supervisor was too low-ranked for that to make sense. Quick arrest, quick trial, and quick execution. Routine stuff, except for the trial part.”
“Routine for snakes,” Malin said.
“And CEOs who want to remain in power,” Morgan shot back.
“Iceni hasn’t even been here for more than a week,” Drakon said. “I don’t like the idea of this assistant of hers unilaterally ordering executions.” How to get that across to the assistant in the most intimidating way without appearing to elevate the importance of the assistant to that of someone I will deal with directly? “Colonel Morgan, you are to contact this assistant of the President’s directly. Tell him that no further executions are to take place without my specific approval. If I hear of any more such actions, I will take action. Make sure that the assistant is absolutely clear that I mean that.”
“I can do that,” Morgan said with a smile. “Or I can just get rid of the assistant. That’ll send a nice, strong message to his boss and to everyone else.”
“Togo is not an easy target,” Malin cautioned.
“Neither am I. But even I offer myself as a target sometimes, don’t I?” Morgan needled Malin. “General, the President, and everyone else, needs to know who really runs this star system.”
“I appreciate the need to be treated with an appropriate level of respect,” Drakon said. “But I’m not ready to send that strong a message to the President. Does anyone else need reminding of my status?”
“There are some citizens,” Morgan scoffed. “Some of those morons who want to be elected to local councils. There have been statements made in their election materials that deserve some severe reprimands from you.”
“They’re blowing off pressure,” Malin insisted. “It keeps that pressure from building up.”
“Or we can just eliminate the source of the pressure,” Morgan snapped.
“I’m keeping my options open,” Drakon said to stop the latest argument. “From all I see, both I and the President are still regarded by the vast majority of the citizens as the heroes who liberated them from the snakes. If I start offing every citizen who says otherwise, it will dent that image pretty fast. If anyone goes beyond talk, or starts getting too many other citizens listening to them, that will be a different matter.”
“General,” Malin said, “if you held an honest election tomorrow, the citizens would overwhelmingly vote you and President Iceni as their leaders. No one could claim that your power came from any other source but the people themselves.”
“Why the hell would he want to do that?” Morgan demanded. “Why let ‘the people’ believe for one second that they have any right to pass judgment on whether or not General Drakon is in charge?”
Malin pointed upward. “We don’t exist in isolation. There are other powers. We have to worry about them.”
Drakon stared at Malin, as did Morgan. She laughed. “Are you invoking fear of ghosts to back up your arguments now? You’ve been around the workers too long.”
“You could read my statement that way, but you could also take it to mean such things as the Syndicate Worlds,” Malin said coldly. “They haven’t disappeared. We have a pathetically small flotilla to defend ourselves until President Iceni returns. If she has not lost any of the units she took with her, but hasn’t gained a battleship, our flotilla will only be pitifully small. With the battleship, it will still be small. And as we all know, the Syndicate Worlds will not attack only with mobile forces and ground forces. They will try to soften us up by any means, create civil unrest, undermine our strength by sabotage, and use every other trick in the Syndicate book to make us an easier target for reconquest. We know this from the inside. We have played this game ourselves. Mobile forces are not our first line of defense. Nor are ground forces. We need the citizens to believe that this is their star system, that General Drakon and President Iceni are their leaders, that we are the best means to ensure their safety against external forces. And then the citizens will ensure that when our forces defend this star system, they have a firm backing behind them.”
“You ensure a firm back by having a firm spine,” Morgan said.
“Is there anything else?” Drakon said in a voice that instantly silenced the debate. He didn’t feel like going over this again, not when his mind was puzzling over what Black Jack was up to and worried about what might have happened to Iceni.
Malin took a deep breath. “There is one other item I wished to discuss with you, sir. Taroa Star System.”
This time, Morgan rolled her eyes. “Are you going to advise General Drakon to go there and tell everyone at Taroa that they should all just get along?”
“No, I’m going to advise General Drakon to go there with troops and intervene in the fighting.”
Morgan let surprise show for a moment, then grinned. “I want to hear this.”
She hadn’t slept well for days, and the last several hours had been particularly bad. Iceni finally erupted from her stateroom on the heavy cruiser, crew members scrambling to stay out of her way, and stormed up to the bridge. “Why the hell isn’t that battleship ready to move?”
Kommodor Marphissa gulped nervously before she answered. “The engineers and system specialists say one more hour, Madam President.”
“That’s what they said an hour ago!”
“Madam President.”
She spun to see that Sub-Executive Kontos had just entered the bridge as well.
“I was coming to report to you, Madam President,” Kontos said. Though still thin, after rest, food, and water, he no longer wavered as he stood, not even when faced by a CEO on the rampage. “One more hour and no more. I personally guarantee it.”
The already-hushed bridge seemed to grow deathly quiet. Under the Syndicate system, announcements of personal responsibility could presage rewards, but more often foretold serious punishment.
Iceni eyed Kontos. “Are you aware of what happened to the last person who failed to carry out their work as they had promised me, Sub-Executive Kontos?”
“I need not concern myself with that, Madam President. There will be no failure. Battleship B-78 will be ready for movement under its own power in one hour.”
His calm and confidence penetrated even her anger. Either Kontos was very brave and very capable, or he was a total idiot incapable of understanding the fate his own words were creating. “One hour, Sub-Executive Kontos. Or you may find yourself outside without a survival suit trying to push the battleship to the jump point.”
“I understand, Madam President.” Kontos saluted and left.
Her frustration snuffed out by Kontos’s performance, Iceni turned to Marphissa, who was still staring at where Sub-Executive Kontos had stood. “The boy is insane,” Marphissa said.