But it was also about protecting herself, and her people. I had meant to do something about that, to get assassination as a means of personnel management off the list of acceptable actions.
Maybe Drakon did it. Buthol said some bad things about him, too.
She hesitated, then called Drakon.
“Is something wrong?” he asked as soon as he saw her.
That was bad. She was so rattled that she was letting it show. “I was wondering, General, if there were any personnel let go in your office recently?” That code phrase was an old one, a subtle means of asking about assassinations.
Drakon took a while to answer. “No. Not recently,” he finally said.
Either he hadn’t ordered it, or he wouldn’t admit to it. She needed to talk to someone who would understand what had happened. But how could she admit to Drakon that she had possibly ordered a hit? Yes, CEOs ordering assassinations happened all the time, but it was still technically illegal even if a CEO ordered it. An admission of possible involvement would be evidence against her, handed to someone who could use that evidence to help gain total power in this star system for himself.
Had Malin told the truth about Drakon’s intentions? Dared she believe that?
If only that big, stupid ape hadn’t slept with Morgan. I could feel us getting closer, developing some sense of being able to trust each other a little—
A new thought arose, hitting her so abruptly that Iceni hoped her feelings didn’t once more reveal themselves to Drakon. Was that Morgan’s idea? Did she sense that I was feeling more comfortable with Drakon and used having sex with him as a means to shove a wedge between us? She must have known that word of that event would get to me somehow.
Is this part of Morgan’s game? For me to mistrust Drakon, to stop working things out with him because he couldn’t keep his pants on with her? But how could she be sure that I would hear something that I wouldn’t dismiss as rumor…
Malin told me.
Was Malin a dupe in this, someone who could be fooled into being her messenger? Or is Malin actually working with her? Was that incident on the orbiting platform merely theater, a preplanned event that would make it appear that seriously bad blood existed between Malin and Morgan so that no one would suspect them of working together?
But how did Togo miss signs of that kind of collaboration? He never told me—
You can’t trust anyone.
Anyone.
Iceni looked at Drakon, who was watching her and waiting for a response. Part of her, the instinctive part, told her to hold that man as far from her as possible and work at limiting his power and eventually neutralizing him completely. Drakon was the only one in the star system with the power to threaten her directly.
But what if that was the wrong answer? What if her only real chance was to invest a measure of the little trust she could spare in a man who was either a lunkhead dumb enough to sleep with an insane bitch or cynical enough not to care that he was breaking one of the few rules he himself had set and was risking his own position for a short period of pleasure.
Or he was being manipulated, despite his power, by those beneath him.
“Many CEOs make the mistake of worrying only about those above them,” a mentor had once confided to Iceni, “when they should be worrying about what those below them are up to. It doesn’t take a lot of strength to make someone stumble. All it takes is knowing when to drop a tiny obstacle in front of their foot. And who knows how to do that better than the people you might barely notice as they do your dirty work?”
“General Drakon.” I am going to regret this. I know I am. Just do it. It’s the last thing anyone will expect. “I would like to meet with you personally. As soon as possible. Neutral ground, no aides or assistants.”
He studied her, then nodded. “All right. The usual place? I can be there in half an hour.”
“I’ll see you there.”
After the conference room door sealed, Drakon sat down, watching her and waiting.
“I’m going to do something stupid,” Iceni said.
“Really? That sort of thing seems to be going around,” Drakon said in a half-mocking, half-bitter way. “I hope it’s not as stupid as what I did.”
“I’m going to tell you that I may have just killed a man with a carelessly worded statement.” Iceni explained what had happened, then waited for his reaction.
“Why did you tell me that?” Drakon asked. “You know what I could do with that information.”
“I am… trusting… that you will not.”
He smiled for the first time that she could recall since his return from Taroa. “You’re right. That’s stupid. Fortunately for you, I’m even stupider. I don’t want anyone rummaging through the skeletons in my closet, so I’m not going to send anyone to go looking in yours. That’s the kind of precedent that can bite back hard. As for what happened, or might have happened, to Buthol…” Drakon shrugged. “Don’t lose any sleep over it. If you made a mistake, then you know what not to say next time.”
Could he possibly understand? “Under what possible interpretation is a mistake that kills someone acceptable?”
Drakon looked away from her. “President Iceni—”
“Call me Gwen, dammit.”
He seemed briefly taken aback. “All right. Gwen, do you have any idea how many battles I’ve been in and how many little mistakes I’ve made? And how many soldiers died because of those mistakes?”
“That is different. You were trying to do your job, you were learning—”
“It doesn’t feel that way. Not if you’re worth a damn.” This time Drakon appeared surprised at having gruffly admitted feeling like that.
“Then you do understand. Forget what we’ve been taught. Forget all the lessons we learned on our way to the top of the Syndicate hierarchy. Is this what we want? The ability for someone in power to kill on a whim, or by mistake?”
She had expected some argument, expected defensive anger, but Drakon instead sat silent for a long while before replying.
“Neither of us is perfect,” he finally said. “Both of us are human enough to make more mistakes than we should.”
“Then should there be limits on our ability to make those kinds of mistakes?”
Drakon stared at her this time. “Is this tied in with what you were saying about changing the courts?”
“Partly.”
“What is it, exactly, that you are asking me?”
Iceni took a deep breath. “Will you agree to order no more executions or assassinations? Not unless we both decide that is necessary in each individual case?”
Another pause. “Did you discover who tried to kill Rogero?”
“No. But I’m wondering if someone else, someone who thinks that sort of tactic is run-of-the-mill business, someone who might work for you or for me, might have made that decision on their own.”
“Because that’s how things are done.” Drakon made it a statement, not a question.
“And who knows who their next target might be?” Iceni added. “I want to know, if someone goes after me, that you did not order it. We’ve got the start of something here. We’ve kept this star system stable, we have the potential for alliances with two other star systems, and we can keep growing if we aren’t destroyed. External threats are one thing. We have little control over that. But internal threats can destroy us, too. You and I have to place real trust in each other, and mutually agreeing to cease extralegal killings can be an important part of establishing such trust.”