The Lost Stars: Imperfect Sword (25 page)

She waited. The thousands of people here stared at her in disbelief. Very few of them would have ever seen a star-system CEO in person, and if so then only through a screen of heavily armed bodyguards. Countless other citizens must be watching the media feeds with equal incredulity. Syndicate CEOs did not go out among their people, not openly, not without enough bodyguards to fight off a small army. Iceni had been a Syndicate CEO, and to many of the citizens, she had remained tainted by that.

One young woman, bolder than the others, finally found her voice. “Why are you here?” she called.

“Because,” Iceni said, making sure her voice carried effortlessly across the crowd, knowing that her words would be picked up and transmitted everywhere on the planet, “I am not afraid of you. And I do not want you to be afraid of me.”

It was perhaps the biggest lie she had ever spoken, and there had been some truly majestic lies spoken by her over time. Iceni was desperately afraid, her heart pounding as she smiled serenely at the huge mob almost within arm’s reach of her. The words of every mentor, every superior, every teacher, every companion of equal rank came back to her.
They are dangerous, they must be kept leashed and controlled, you must never expose yourself to them, you must never appear vulnerable or small before them, you must beat and subdue and force them into submission because if they ever believe that they can change their fates or exact revenge, then you will be torn to pieces by them.

A hand reached out of the crowd toward her and it took all of Iceni’s discipline and strength to avoid flinching back from it. But the hand did not threaten, it just reached, and after a moment Iceni forced herself to reach back and gently grasp it. “Greetings, citizen,” she said in the same placid-but-carrying tone of voice.

She felt it then, as if by touching that hand she had thrown a stone into a pond, the ripples spreading out from that gesture, the smiles appearing and the tension evaporating. That was how it was with mobs. When they tipped, they went all out, and this mob had tipped not into violence and rage but into reassurance and celebration. She felt it and she knew it and her fear was suddenly charged with a strange exhilaration.
“For the people!”
Iceni cried, raising her hands, and the words came repeated back to her by the mass of humanity in the plaza, a roar of support and approval that terrified her with the immensity and the force of it, the sound echoing back from the structure behind her with what felt like enough power to rock her on her feet.

Steeling herself, Iceni walked another step toward the crowd, citizens pushing to be closer to her, but still maintaining a slight distance through force of habit, touching, cheering, waving.

The tiny comm device in her right ear murmured with Colonel Rogero’s voice. “Congratulations, Madam President. You did it. All areas are reporting that the crisis ended when media showed your appearance outside your residence. The crisis has turned into an enormous party. We’re going to make sure all of the liquor outlets and drug outlets stay closed, so the partying doesn’t get out of hand.”

Iceni kept smiling even though she wanted to collapse with relief, tried to control the rapid beating of her heart, tried not to let her awe of the power of the mass of humanity before her show in her eyes, as she touched and smiled and waved back.

She had them, she suddenly realized. She had all of their strength in her hands at that moment. They would do whatever she asked, not reluctantly out of coercion, but enthusiastically out of belief in her, putting their hearts and souls into the task. This was the power that the Syndicate feared, this was the power that the Alliance claimed to wield, and it was hers. She had been afraid of these people before, afraid of the power of the mob, but now that she held their power to use or misuse, now that she finally held that which she had longed for, it scared the hell out of her.

“HERE
comes another barrage! Into the shelters!”

Drakon sat down, feeling clumsy and massive in his battle armor, the seat creaking beneath his weight. The command center had few soldiers in it besides him and Malin. He eyed the information on his display about the incoming barrage, judging it through his way-too-extensive experience with being bombarded by enemy artillery. “It’s a little lighter than the first one. They must be running low on rockets.”

“There is a higher proportion of gun artillery,” Malin agreed. “Sir, we’re going to have to employ chaff from the base stocks if they hit us again after this. Everything blocking precision weapon targeting and sensors out there is starting to get thin.”

“This second Syndicate barrage will throw up more junk,” Drakon said. “Colonel Kai, Colonel Safir, how are your troops doing for ammo?”

“Fully resupplied, General, with more stocks in ready resupply right behind the forward positions,” Kai said.

“Same here, General,” Safir reported. “The troops are tired, though. It’s been a long day.”

“Up patches are authorized for anyone who hasn’t employed one yet,” Drakon said. Using too many of the stimulant patches too fast was a recipe for psychotic episodes, which was a particularly bad thing when heavily armed soldiers were involved. But it was probably past time to give his soldiers a mental and physical boost after all they had already been through.

“Yes, sir. My people believe that they have spotted preliminary indications of Syndicate troops massing opposite sector four,” Safir said.

Malin nodded in agreement. “From the small signs our sensors have picked up in the Syndicate positions, I estimate the next two attacks will come at sectors one and four.”

“They’ll do the same thing,” Kai said. “Failure is no indication of a flaw in planning.” Safir laughed sharply, drawing a puzzled look from Kai. “I was merely pointing out Syndicate tactical philosophy,” he said. “Do you disagree?”

“No, Colonel. I was admiring the accuracy of your statement,” Safir replied.

Drakon barely managed to hide his own smile. Safir, having served so long with Gaiene, had plenty of experience with comebacks. But the reminder of Conner made the smile vanish before it could form, then the bombardment arrived.

The sky fell on the base again, the overheads, the walls, and the floors trembling with the constant shock of explosions. But the Syndicate could build things well, and this base seemed to be lacking in the most common construction flaws and errors. Ground-penetrating artillery was being foiled by layers of special armor, surface fortifications were shrugging off armor-penetrating artillery, and the concussions of the high-explosive rounds were accomplishing little but to bounce around the increasingly fine gravel and dust which this morning had been the surface structures of the base.

Malin took a report, then shook his head at Drakon as more dust silted down from the ceiling. “Executive First Rank Finley, the supposed senior snake here, is dead. She was taken prisoner during our initial assault but was found dead among the prisoners, all of whom professed to know nothing about what happened to her.”

“Funny how often snakes die during assaults or when captured and left among other prisoners,” Drakon said, leaning back and looking up so he could see through his helmet’s visual sensors a stream of dust falling toward him from a small crack in the ceiling.

“A lot of them died here,” Malin agreed. “From what I have been able to piece together, that’s what allowed us to seize the base so quickly once we penetrated the fortifications. The snakes stationed at the front lines began shooting soldiers who tried to retreat, and the other soldiers took that badly enough to start massacring the snakes among them. The brigade holding this base fell apart from the inside when we punched the outside hard enough.”

“Morgan was right about that,” Drakon said.

“Yes . . . she was.”

Drakon gazed upward at the falling dust, wondering again what had happened to Morgan, and wishing as usual that he could leave whatever command center he was in and go to the front line. He had never liked the usual necessity of holding back from getting directly involved in the fighting, so he could focus on the big picture. It did not feel brave or right when his soldiers were fighting and dying as a result of the commands he issued.
But I know I have to do it that way. If I’m not looking out for the big picture, acting like the commanding officer should act, then I would be betraying them. Who would do my job if I weren’t doing it?

Who would care about these soldiers if I didn’t?

“The barrage is ceasing,” Malin cautioned. “Surviving surface sensors see no more inbound rounds after the next volley hits in thirty seconds.”

Drakon sat up, stood up, and focused on his display. “All units, the latest barrage will cease after the next rounds land. Exit blast bunkers in forty seconds and reoccupy all outer fortifications.”

The ground shook through a final spasm, then Drakon saw on the virtual windows before him Syndicate chaff rounds sprouting their clouds of confusion in the open area all around the base.

“Hold on,” he heard Colonel Safir say to what was now her brigade. “Don’t fire until you have targets. Wait for it.”

“Stand by,” Colonel Kai told his soldiers. “Ready.”

The defenders had been able to rest during the barrage. They had been resupplied from the ample stockpiles of ammunition in the base and had eaten rations from the base supplies. Now they packed into the fortifications where many of the automated defenses had been destroyed by earlier fighting, their own weapons leveled toward the chaff clouds before them.

At both sector one and sector four, a mass of figures in battle armor burst through the murk and into full view less than twenty meters from the outer fortifications.

“Fire,” Safir and Kai said simultaneously.

The front ranks of the assault evaporated under the defensive fire at both locations. Stubborn attackers kept coming, stumbling over the bodies of their comrades, facing a storm of fire that knocked them down mercilessly.

The attackers at sector one faltered, standing still for a few moments, leaning into the defensive fire as if it were a heavy wind. Then they broke, scrambling back into the chaff clouds.

But opposite sector four the attackers confronting Safir’s soldiers kept coming, wave after wave, until their bodies began blocking the firing ports of the fortifications.

“Colonel! We can’t cover the base of the wall anymore! Their breaching teams will have a free shot!”

“The hell they will!” Safir cried. “General, request permission to counterattack.”

Malin cast a startled glance at Drakon, who had been watching the pressure build on Safir’s troops. “General, that’s—”

“A very good idea,” Drakon said. “The Syndicate troops back at their lines won’t be able to see our forces leave the base because of the chaff they laid to screen their own attack. Colonel Safir, permission granted. Sally your counterattack from sector five. Clear the base of the wall, then get your people back inside.”

“You heard the man!” Safir called. “Third Battalion, go!”

Sally ports shot open in the base of the fortifications to one side of where the masses of attackers were piling up against the base’s outer wall. The Third Battalion of the Second Brigade, with Colonel Safir in their midst, poured out, immediately pivoted ninety degrees, and hit the side of the Syndicate assault like a hammer.

The attack collapsed, many of the exhausted Syndicate soldiers simply dropping to their knees and throwing away their weapons as the rest of the assault force fled. Armored figures who must have been snakes or frustrated supervisors tried to shoot those surrendering, but Safir’s troops targeted anyone still holding a weapon and wiped them out. “Round them up!” Safir ordered. “You!” she added, shifting to an external speaker that the microphones on the Syndicate battle armor would pick up. “If you want to live as prisoners, move! Anyone left out here when we get back inside is a target!”

“General,” Malin said. “As soon as the Syndicate commanders realize we have soldiers outside the base fortifications—”

“They will order in a bombardment of that area,” Drakon finished. “I worked in the Syndicate system long enough to know how much time it takes for that system to identify new information, make a decision, and get a sudden change implemented. We’ve got at least four minutes. Colonel Safir, get your people back inside in less than four minutes.”

“Yes, General,” she replied, sounding breathless. “They’ll know better than to mess with Conner Gaiene’s lads and ladies again.”

Drakon realized that he was smiling. The Second Brigade was no longer commanded by Gaiene, but he had been in charge long enough to put his stamp on the unit, especially once Drakon’s division had been exiled to Midway and thereby, ironically, given a bit more freedom from Syndicate micromanagement as a result of being punished. For a while longer at least the Second Brigade would still think of themselves as Gaiene’s, and that was not a bad thing. Not a bad thing at all.

“I think Colonel Safir was around Colonel Gaiene a bit too long,” Malin said.

“It looks to me like she was around Conner for just about the right amount of time,” Drakon said.

The Third Battalion, showing little patience with laggards, hustled the disarmed prisoners inside the base and resealed the sally ports. “Well done, Colonel Safir,” Drakon said. “Make sure the prisoners are under strong guard until they’ve been individually screened for any weapons we might have missed in the rush.”

“Barrage inbound,” Malin announced, then looked at Drakon again. “Four minutes, fifteen seconds.”

Drakon grinned at him, feeling a rush of relief that the latest attacks had been repulsed. “Close enough for Syndicate work.”

“A damned sight better than Syndicate work, sir.” The ground trembled once more as the barrage struck outside of sector two. “The Syndicate soldiers surrounding us will know that barrage is hitting any of their wounded outside the base.”

“We brought in every wounded soldier we could,” Drakon said.

“We know that, but the Syndicate ground forces will assume those wounded are still out there and being killed by their own artillery.” Malin smiled that cold smile of his. “With that on top of the losses they’ve sustained in futile attacks today, the Syndicate forces are going to face some serious morale problems.”

Drakon nodded, his eyes on his display, where the chaff clouds now drifted with no signs of the enemy visible behind them. “I’m going to need the Syndicate prisoners screened for potential recruits, Bran. The ones from the brigade that held this base and the ones we just picked up outside. We’ve taken way too many losses today. Maybe we can find some recruits with potential among our prisoners.”

It took Drakon a moment to realize that he had just thought beyond the next hour, beyond today.

He might just have a future again.

But they were still surrounded; despite their losses, the Syndicate ground forces still had big advantages in supporting arms like artillery and aerospace warbirds, and above all else there was still that Syndicate battleship to worry about.

—

IN
terms of numbers, the two flotillas rushing toward each other were closely matched. Each had a single battleship. Now that Haris’s cruisers had joined it, the Syndicate flotilla also contained two heavy cruisers, one light cruiser, and three Hunter-Killers. Marphissa’s ships had met up with the newly arrived
Midway
, giving her flotilla two heavy cruisers, two light cruisers, and four Hunter-Killers.

“I should switch flagships,” Marphissa said reluctantly. She had gone to her stateroom to talk privately with Mercia and Bradamont, who were in one of the battleship’s secure conference rooms, but thanks to the conferencing software appeared to be sitting right next to Marphissa’s desk on
Manticore
. “I should be aboard
Midway
. There’s plenty of time for a shuttle to come over to
Manticore
and transport me back to the battleship.”

Kapitan Mercia looked over as Bradamont cleared her throat. “Kommodor,” Bradamont said, speaking formally, “I recommend that you stay on
Manticore
. Not because of any flaw with
Midway
,” she added with a gesture toward Mercia. “We all agree that the Syndicate believes the
Midway
is once more bluffing, that her weapons are still mostly not operational. If you switch flagships, the Syndicate will see the shuttle movement and know what the significance of that must be. It will cause them to wonder if the
Midway
is indeed bluffing. Why would you transfer to a ship without working weapons?”

Kapitan Mercia nodded. “So, if the Kommodor switches to
Midway
, it might well lead CEO Boucher to question whether
Midway
might be fully operational, or at least much more ready to fight than the Syndicate expects. I agree with Captain Bradamont.”

“But,” Bradamont continued, “if you stay on
Manticore
even though you have the opportunity to transfer to
Midway
, it will serve to confirm to the Syndics, excuse me, the Syndicate forces, their belief that
Midway
is not a functional warship.”