It was the flip side of the earlier argument. That didn’t mean the argument didn’t have logic behind it, though. “Do you have any information actually linking Colonel Rogero to an assassination plot aimed at me?”
This time Togo hesitated. “There are some very disturbing rumors concerning Colonel Rogero, Madam President. They call into question his loyalty and who he truly answers to.”
So some form of information about Rogero’s contacts with the ISS and that woman in the Alliance fleet had leaked out. “Rumors?” Iceni pressed. “You know how I feel about rumors.”
“I have nothing solid, but the nature of the rumors indicate that Colonel Rogero may be extremely dangerous. He should be dealt with before—”
“No.” Iceni leaned forward to emphasize her words. “That is not authorized. If you find proof, I want to see it. If all you have is rumors, I will not change my mind.”
“But Madam President—”
“Proof.”
“With all respect, Madam President, the proof may be your death.”
“I don’t think so.” Iceni sat back again, smiling slightly. “And I think too highly of your own abilities to believe that Colonel Rogero would pose a threat while you are nearby.”
Togo stood, irresolute, then nodded. “I will protect you, Madam President.”
“Of course.”
She watched him leave, then sighed and turned back to her work. Maybe Rogero was a threat, but she had no doubt that, whatever his orders, Rogero had deliberately avoided hitting her with that shot. A shot that had killed a snake whose intentions toward her didn’t have to be guessed. For that, Rogero deserved at least a little restraint on her part.
She had told Drakon that she wouldn’t order any more executions without informing him. Assassinations didn’t count as part of that agreement. Prudence, as exercised by Syndicate Worlds’ CEOs, meant erring on the side of ensuring that potential threats were eliminated.
But the words that Kommodor Marphissa had spoken to her, about the need to ensure that only the guilty were punished, still bothered Iceni. And Drakon had seemed to listen when she brought it up. Really listen, as opposed to nodding occasionally to fake interest in what she was saying. Not many people did that, of course, not when she had wielded the power of a CEO and currently the power of a president, but when she was younger, it had happened with discouraging frequency. Nowadays, the fake interest was much more carefully contrived. But Drakon had actually listened. For a moment there… no. You can’t afford to think that way. You let your guard down with him because you were so relieved to get back here safe, with the battleship and in time to scare off that flotilla, and to learn that he hadn’t moved against you. But that doesn’t mean he isn’t planning something, or won’t do something if you give him a good enough opportunity. Never trust anyone, but especially never trust another CEO. And that’s what Artur Drakon is even though he calls himself a general now.
Keep telling yourself that, Gwen. You can’t drop your defenses with him. If he ever got you in bed… oh.
Wow.
I wish I hadn’t thought about that.
As Iceni had said, space travel could be very boring even with all the latest entertainment options at your beck and call. Not that a freighter was set up to deal with the entertainment needs of so many soldiers crammed into cargo compartments modified to offer life support and accommodations for half a brigade.
Drakon had the luxury of his own room, a closet-sized affair that offered privacy and little else. Taroa wasn’t too far as jumps went, but the journey to the jump point took a while, then there were four and a half days in jump space, followed by a long, tense trip toward the fourth planet in the Taroa Star System.
There weren’t any mobile forces units at Taroa, but that didn’t mean some couldn’t show up at any moment, and even a HuK or a corvette would be more than a freighter could handle. The small fast attack craft that had once served as defenses just outside planetary atmospheres had been swept up in a recall from Prime months ago, sent to some star systems far from here apparently in a harebrained scheme to fight Black Jack’s fleet. They hadn’t come back and had never been replaced by new units, so even that threat was at least temporarily gone.
Twelve hours’ travel time out from the main docks orbiting the fourth planet, Drakon walked through the modified cargo compartments and other habitable parts of the freighter. The civilian crew members were deferential in the manner of people who knew they could die in a heartbeat if they offended him. Drakon had considered telling one of the nervous crew members that their deference offended him just to see how they would react but decided that would be gratuitously cruel. He knew from his own experiences when he was much more junior in rank that jokes like that were only funny to the superior who made them.
Everywhere else he went, his soldiers greeted him with feigned surprise as they worked on equipment, or studied advancement courses or tactics, or worked on virtual trainers. Drakon knew full well that he was being tracked by his soldiers everywhere he went on the freighter, and they were busy keeping each other apprised of where he was headed next. With some work and deceptive movements, he could probably surprise some of his soldiers in the middle of gambling or unauthorized unarmed-combat competitions, but it wasn’t worth the trouble, especially since his soldiers knew better than to engage in any wild parties so close to a combat operation. So Drakon kept to an easily forecast path, threading through crowded cargo compartments and along passageways lined sometimes on both sides with soldiers sitting awake or asleep. He gave them a calm, confident demeanor that was only part masquerade and they gave him a professional and prepared appearance that was also only part pretense but would be full reality when it came time to attack.
Finally on his way back to his own room to do some final preparations of his own, Drakon came across the brigade commander. Colonel Gaiene sat in a passageway, back against one bulkhead, facing the bulkhead across from him since no one else sat on that side. If they had to describe Conor Gaiene’s appearance in one word, most people would have chosen “dashing.” Or maybe “gallant” or perhaps “swashbuckling.” Even sitting on the deck, he somehow seemed ready to leap up and lead a charge.
That was how he appeared until you noticed his eyes, dark and weary even though Gaiene was still a few years shy of middle age. Now those eyes looked up as Drakon approached. “Good afternoon, General.”
“Good afternoon.” There were few other soldiers near the command deck, and those were giving their brigade commander as much room and privacy as current circumstances allowed, so Drakon took a seat next to Gaiene. “How are you doing?”
“I’m sober. And alone. Alas.” A female soldier walked by, and Gaiene watched her appreciatively though discreetly. “No sleeping with subordinates. Is that rule really necessary?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“Most CEOs don’t care. Most CEOs right now would have a drink in one hand and one of their subordinates in the other.”
Drakon grinned. “I’m not most CEOs.”
“No. You’re not.” Gaiene looked toward the far bulkhead, his expression pensive. “For which I am smart enough to be grateful.”
“You’re brilliant in battle, Con.”
“And the rest of the time I’m a royal pain in the butt.” Gaiene ran one hand through his hair, and Drakon caught a glimpse of the ring on one of his fingers. How long ago had she died? Ever since then, Gaiene had tried to forget her with every woman who was willing and every bottle he could crack open. But he still wore the ring. “I don’t know why you keep me around.”