The Lost Stars (9 page)

And yet . . .

“Retain her. I want her alive for now. Ensure she is not abused.” Some instinct told her that was the right answer. Why? She didn't know. All the more reason to give that answer. She needed time to figure out why something was telling her to keep the snake agent alive. “Keep me informed of anything else you learn.”

After Togo's image vanished, Iceni glared at the top of the desk, then looked carefully at the display above it again. The light from the first clash of the Alliance and enigma warships would be visible here soon. She levered herself to her feet and walked out of the office, trying to project every ounce of confidence and command that she possessed.
Mess with me, will you, Colonel Morgan? Killing you might not be feasible now, but that doesn't mean I can't lay plans. And the next time you try to use Drakon's loyalty to his subordinates against me, I'll be ready.

Assuming Drakon had been motivated to defend Morgan by that loyalty and not by some other feeling toward Morgan.

Why that thought made Iceni bloom with renewed anger she didn't know, but the anger just strengthened her resolve to reveal nothing of her feelings at this moment, to act as if she and Drakon were co-rulers without a hint of friction between them. She walked up to Drakon and smiled politely, using the posture Syndicate rules laid out for interactions between equals. “It won't be long now before we see Black Jack and the enigmas cross swords.”

Drakon, who had been standing stiffly, looking across the command center with a thundercloud on his brow, turned a startled glance her way, the surprise quickly shading into relief, then suspicion. “Yes.”

At least he's smart enough to say as little as possible so as to minimize the chance of saying the wrong thing.
“The snake agent can't identify any handlers.”

“I'm not surprised,” Drakon said. “The snakes know their business. Maybe if someone else questions her?” He left the question hanging, waiting to see how she would respond and whether she would announce that particular agent had been disposed of and wouldn't be answering any more questions for anyone.

“Feel free,” Iceni replied.

“I will.”

“Good.”

“All right.”

The meaningless exchange of words ground to a halt as the level of tension in the command center rose in a perceptible fashion. Iceni looked at the display, her eyes on the distant warships. “Let's see what Black Jack does. Or, rather, what he
did.”

Hours ago, Black Jack's diminished fleet had raced into contact with the enigmas and—“Huh?” Iceni said without thinking.

“Why did he swing so wide?” Drakon demanded. “He avoided an encounter.”

“I'm not certain.” Iceni studied the display, frowning, as the two forces began curving back up and around toward each other. Black Jack was known for last-second vector changes that allowed him to hit portions of his foe's formation, but this time the vector change had been so large that the two forces had avoided contact. She couldn't recall seeing any record of Black Jack misjudging an intercept that badly.

“General,” Colonel Malin called. “Those six ships.”

Everyone's attention had been on Black Jack and the enigmas, the six mystery ships momentarily forgotten. At Malin's prompt, eyes shifted that
way.

One of the watch-standers was the first to grasp what was happening. “The enigmas aren't continuing back around to attack the Alliance force. They're aiming to intercept the six unknown ships.”

In response, the strange ships had fled straight up, though of course “up” and “down” meant nothing in space. But humans designated a plane in every star system, one side being up and the other down, to enable them to view things in a context they could understand. Iceni let out an involuntary gasp at the way the six ships maneuvered. “Magnificent.”

Drakon gave her a searching look. “They seem to be moving very . . . gracefully.”

“Yes. Graceful, controlled, smooth . . .” Iceni shook her head. “Whoever or whatever they are, they know how to drive ships.”

Far away and hours ago, Black Jack's fleet tore across the bottom portion of the enigmas single-mindedly pursuing the six unknown ships, ripping away a large portion of the enigma armada. “Well done,” Iceni murmured. She noticed Drakon watching intently, trying to understand the tactics being employed, and felt pleased that he was smart enough not to dismiss a way of fighting alien to what he knew.

An alert flashed, drawing everyone's attention back toward the jump point for Pele. Iceni stared at the data flashing into existence as automated systems evaluated what they were seeing. Alliance battleships, heavy cruisers, destroyers, auxiliaries, assault transports. “It's the rest of Black Jack's fleet,” she exclaimed as understanding struck. “He was chasing the enigmas here and came on with his swiftest ships.”

“All right,” Drakon said, “I can buy that. He wasn't hurt nearly as badly as we thought. But what the hell is
that
?”

That
was a huge ship whose identity was giving the automated systems the fits. Or was it a ship? “Madam President, it looks like something immense with four Alliance battleships attached to
it.”

“It's that big?” She stared at the data pouring in. “Towing it. Those battleships are providing propulsion for that thing.”

“It looks like a ship of some kind,” a specialist suggested. “But it doesn't match anything in our files. It doesn't look like anything ever built.”

“Anything ever built by humans,” Malin said.

“That's not an enigma ship,” Iceni protested.

“I did not say it was, Madam President. But, whatever it is, I do not think that humans created
it.”

Her eyes went back to the battle, seeing vectors bending about as Black Jack's fleet and the enigma armada swung again.

“The enigmas are heading for the jump exit!” another specialist announced, sparking a ragged cheer from the workers.

But Iceni shook her head, dampening the celebration. “Look at that vector. They're headed in that direction, but the enigmas are steadying out, aiming to intercept the second Alliance formation.”

Minutes crawled by, the automated systems confirming Iceni's assessment, Black Jack's battle cruisers coming around and steadying onto a stern chase after the enigmas, the six mystery ships continuing up a little ways but then heading in toward the star at a high rate of speed, away from all of the combatants. Whatever they were, they didn't seem to be interested in fighting. Their vectors were bringing them rapidly closer to the planet where Iceni was, but they were still very far off, and she didn't feel any sense of threat.

Drakon stepped closer to her to speak in a low voice. “What's going to happen? Is that second Alliance force going to dodge like Black Jack did the first time?”

“They can't,” Iceni replied. “Those battleships at their best can't outmaneuver enigma ships, and they're burdened with the support ships and that giant whatever-it
is.”

“So what happens?”

“Look. The Alliance formation is compressing down. Battleships don't depend on maneuvering in battle, General Drakon. They depend on armor, shields, and firepower.”

He nodded once, expression bleak. “A wall of death. Whoever is in charge of that formation is going to try to smash whatever comes at them. What will the enigmas
do?”

They were once again talking without hindrance, the discomfort created by the earlier incident almost gone thanks to the requirements of dealing with new events. Iceni shook her head. “I don't know what the enigmas will do. What they
did
, since it's already happened. We don't know enough about them.”

“Let's hope Black Jack does.”

It took a while for the enigma armada to come into contact with the second Alliance formation, but this time no one took their eyes off of the main display. There was an awful inevitability to the clash this time, the sense of watching two objects coming into a collision from which little might survive.

“Madam President,” the senior supervisor said. “I have taken a close look at the enigma track. They are aiming for the dead center of the Alliance formation.”

“Meaning?” Iceni asked.

“They have highly maneuverable ships, Madam President. We know that much. Yet they are making an attack that seems to take no advantage of that, and they abandoned their attacks on the faster Alliance formation to assault the slower
one.”

“Give me an assessment,” Iceni said, knowing her voice sounded harsh this time. “I can read data as well as anyone else. Tell me what it means.”

The supervisor swallowed nervously before speaking again. “Madam President, it argues that there is something in the new Alliance formation that the enigmas particularly want to destroy, and that something is in the center of their formation.”

Drakon pointed. “Their support ships are around the center of their formation, and that huge thing they brought with them is right in the middle.”

“They want it,” Iceni said. “You're right. That's the target. Whatever it is, they want to destroy it so badly that they've abandoned other targets.”

“The enigma formation is also closing down, tightening,” Malin pointed
out.

“Yes, sir,” the supervisor agreed. “They intend to smash right into the middle of the Alliance formation.”

“This is going to be ugly,” Drakon growled. “I hate head-on attacks.”

In fact, as the two sides charged together, the main display lit with a kaleidoscope of flashes, alerts, and flares that would have looked pretty to someone who didn't know those things represented massive destruction confined to a very small section of space. Silence fell in the command center as everyone watched the event.

“Never charge battleships head-on,” Iceni finally said, as the command center systems sorted out what could be seen. “Not unless you have battleships of your own that you don't mind losing.” The Alliance force had taken some damage, but the enigma armada had been gutted, the entire closely packed center annihilated.

Drakon nodded heavily. “I'll remember that.”

“General, if we get to the point where you're commanding mobile forces, we'll really be in trouble,” Iceni replied, feeling almost giddy with relief. Most of the enigma ships had been destroyed. Surely the others would—

“The enigma formation has broken into smaller pieces,” a watch specialist reported worriedly. “They are all coming around back toward . . . toward . .
.”

Iceni watched, feeling tension rise once more. One group of enigma ships looked very much like it would be heading for the hypernet gate, where CEO Boyens and the Syndicate flotilla still waited, having sat out the battle so far. She wasn't worried about what happened to Boyens, but if the enigmas attacked the gate—

“We have intercept vectors identified for enigma ship groupings. One is aimed at the hypernet gate, one is aimed at the gas giant, and the last at . . . at . . . this planet,” the specialist finally managed to
say.

Everyone looked at her. Iceni, not knowing what to say or do, simply tried not to look as worried as she was. Kommodor Marphissa and her flotilla might be able to do something to protect the mobile forces facility orbiting the gas giant. That and the battleship had to be the targets of the group of enigma ships headed for the gas giant. There wasn't anything she could do about the group heading for the hypernet gate except hope that Boyens would display more skill as a mobile forces commander than he had shown before.

But there wasn't anything to stop the enigma ships coming toward this planet. Marphissa's flotilla was too far out of position to manage an intercept. The Alliance warships, the battle cruisers and light cruisers and destroyers, had dissolved their formation and torn after the enigmas, but now were in a hopeless stern chase. If the enigmas came close enough to the planet, the surface defenses could engage them, but she felt a sick certainty that the aliens would not bother coming close to do what they wanted to
do.

A strident alarm flashed red on the display, overriding everything else.

Drakon clenched one fist and looked at Iceni. “I know that alarm.”

“Yes,” Iceni said in a voice whose steadiness surprised her. The display was mechanically and unfeelingly providing the details of the death sentence she thought she might have miraculously avoided. “The enigmas have launched bombardment projectiles aimed at this planet. Seventy-two of them, many with substantial mass. That is enough to devastate the limited land area on this world and wipe out the human population.”

“What can we
do?”

“Nothing, General Drakon. Absolutely nothing.”

“GENERAL,”
Malin said urgently. He had come up close to Drakon without being noticed while everyone gaped in despair at the display with its deadly message for everyone on this world. “There are still a few freighters in orbit. We can get you up to one of them.”

“I thought you wanted me to stay,” Drakon said, feeling intense bitterness at the end of his hopes for this star system.

“When it meant something, General. It doesn't mean anything now. That bombardment cannot be stopped. You can save yourself, and as long as you live, you can still try to make something from the ruins. With the flotilla commanded by Kommodor Marphissa, you will have substantial influence someplace like Taroa.”

“And my troops, Colonel Malin? What about my soldiers?”

“We'll lift as many as we can up to the freighters, General.”

As many as we can? A few hundred, maybe. Out of thousands. Colonel Rogero would probably stay with his unit until the end, watching the enigma bombardment come down through the atmosphere in streaks of fire that would end in mushroom clouds. Colonel Kai, too. Colonel Gaiene? Drakon imagined Gaiene greeting the bombardment with a sense of relief that his long grief was ending. Gaiene would probably raise a defiant toast to the projectile with his name on it, meeting his end with the combination of style and sorrow that had marked him for the past few years. “Bran, I don't think I want to. Abandoning all of those soldiers, abandoning all of the citizens here who counted on us to defend them . .
.”

“Sir, with all due respect,” Malin urged, “it's not about you. You have a duty to carry on with this, with whatever we can salvage from the wreck of this world.”

Morgan had appeared on Drakon's other side, her face twisted into exaggerated surprise. “Even he gets it right sometimes. General, let's go. We've got a while before those rocks hit and turn this place into trash, but once the mob finds out those rocks are coming, they'll riot and try to storm the landing fields.”

They were right. Malin and Morgan had logic and reason on their side. But Drakon looked over at Iceni, who was gazing with a stony expression at the display. Sensing his eyes on her, she looked back at him. Iceni said nothing, but Drakon felt certain of the acquiescence she had just wordlessly conveyed to him.
Go ahead. Leave.

Instead, he walked toward her, leaving Malin and Morgan. “Madam President,” Drakon said formally, “you need to get to a shuttle. I'll order my soldiers to form perimeters around the landing fields. They should be able to hold back the crowds until the shuttles can load and lift.”

She looked into his eyes. “And we would leave those soldiers? They would stand firm as we head for safety under their protection?”

“Soldiers do that, Madam President. Sometimes they have to. You'll be able to get clear.”

“
I
will be able to get clear? What of
you
, General?”

Before he could answer, the command center supervisor called out. “We have a message coming in from the Alliance forces. It is addressed to President Iceni and General Drakon.”

“Give us a private comm window here,” Iceni directed.

Moments later, the virtual window appeared before them, invisible to everyone else. Drakon had seen images of Black Jack Geary before. The famous hero of the Alliance did not look like a hero. He looked like a man doing his job, a man who didn't think of himself as heroic. Drakon had liked that. At the moment, Black Jack didn't look happy about annihilating most of the enigma armada. Instead, he spoke in somber tones. “This is Admiral Geary. We have done our best to eliminate the enigma force, but some ships have gotten past us, and some of those have launched a bombardment aimed at your inhabited planet. We will continue our pursuit of the enigma ships but cannot stop the incoming bombardment. I urge you to take any possible measures to ensure the safety of your people. To the honor of our ancestors, Geary,
out.”

Morgan's scornful voice broke the silence following the message. “Was there anything in there that we didn't already know? General, let's
go.”

“He did everything he could,” Iceni replied with a fiery glance at Morgan.

“Yes,” Drakon agreed. “I can't fault Black Jack.” But otherwise Morgan was right. It was past time to go. But he didn't move, feeling as if his feet were fastened to the floor, and neither did Iceni. In his mind's eye, Drakon saw the ranks of his soldiers, the men and women who had followed him for years in battles across a score of worlds, who had lost comrades on each of those worlds while carrying out his commands. He saw them standing firm to hold back panicked crowds while a shuttle carrying Drakon himself lifted to safety, leaving them to certain death. Beyond them he saw the white beaches of this world and the gentle slopes of its islands, he remembered the breezes off the wide waters and the setting of a sun whose particular size and tint had come to seem very familiar in a few years. To leave was one thing. To leave those soldiers and this world knowing that all would soon cease to exist was another and far harder thing.

Even after all the years climbing the ranks of the Syndicate hierarchy, even after all that had required, there were still some things that General Artur Drakon found impossible to
do.

“General,” Malin began again, though something in his tone conveyed his understanding that further pleas would be useless.

Drakon shook his head. “Accompany the President when she goes off planet, Colonel Malin. She'll need your advice and assistance.”

Malin looked down, then back up at him. “I would rather stay, General.”

“That's an order, Bran.”

“I do not believe any punishment you threaten for disobeying orders would have much meaning under the circumstances,” Malin pointed out. “We might be able to ride it out in the headquarters complex.”

“Not too damned likely,” Drakon grumbled. “All right, dammit. But get an escort set up to get President Iceni to the lift field. Make it strong. There's going to be mass panic soon.”

Morgan was standing nearby, her posture strangely uncertain. Uncharacteristically, she didn't seem able to decide what to do, just watching Drakon with a fixed stare.

“Go ahead, Colonel Morgan,” Drakon said. He looked over at Iceni, who herself was still standing, gazing across the command center, fists clenched at her sides. “You are to command the President's escort and ensure she gets on a shuttle, help her commandeer a freighter in orbit, then remain with her and guard her wherever she goes. Get her out of here, get her to safety, whether she wants to go or not, and you get out safe,
too.”

“No.” Morgan shook her head like someone coming out of a daze. “You—”

“M-Madam President?” the supervisor called out. “Th-there's something happening.”

“
What
is happening?” Iceni snapped, instantly focused on the situation again.

“Those six ships, Madam President. They're . . . they're doing something.”

“What are they doing?”
Iceni repeated in an even more forceful tone. But as she looked at the display, the anger was replaced by incomprehension. “What are they doing?” she repeated, baffled.

Almost forgotten until now, the six mystery ships had been driving steadily inward toward the star. Now they were diving back toward the plane of the star system, accelerating at a very impressive rate, their vectors aimed
at—

“It's the bombardment,” the supervisor said in a disbelieving voice. “They're aiming to intercept the bombardment.”

“Why?” Iceni asked the question of the entire command center. “What's the point? What can they
do?”

The supervisor, forced by his position to be the one to answer, faltered out a reply. “I . . . I don't know, Madam President.”

Iceni spun to face Drakon. “Mobile forces cannot stop a bombardment. It's too hard a problem for the fire control systems. What are those ships doing?”

Colonel Malin answered. “Those aren't our ships. They're not Alliance ships. They're not
human
ships. Maybe they can do something ours can't.”

Every eye stayed on the display as the six ships swooped down on the bombardment projectiles, sliding into position directly behind them in a maneuver that brought a gasp of admiration from Iceni and several others in the command center. The mystery ships began firing, somehow scoring hits, blows that did not destroy the solid metal bombardment projectiles but did divert their paths, sending them on courses that would never reach this planet.

Drakon watched, impressed even though he didn't understand the magnitude of the achievement, as the bombardment was diverted projectile by projectile. But he did note that the rate of success kept dropping as the bombardment pulled away from the six ships.

Finally, only one projectile remained on course for this world. Shots from the six ships blasted toward it again and again, with no results. Drakon began trying to calculate how much damage that one object would do when it struck this planet. “Any guesses?” he asked Malin and Morgan, both of whom shook their heads.

“It depends too much on where it hits,” Malin explained.

The firing stopped. Drakon heard a vast sigh fill the command center as everyone at once seemed to let out disappointed breaths. To come so close to total success and not achieve it . . . But he couldn't complain, not when a planet-killing bombardment had been reduced to one rock that might be devastating but not a total disaster. “If you two have decided to start following orders again, calculate the trajectory on that rock and try to get an estimate of where it will hit,” he ordered Morgan and Malin. “We need
to—”

The six ships had fired again, a single volley.

Instead of reporting success, the supervisor sobbed with relief.

Iceni looked ready to reprimand him, then smiled and took a long, slow breath herself. “I don't know where they came from, I don't know what they are, but we are amazingly lucky that they were here.”

“Perhaps it wasn't luck,” Malin said. He had a calculating expression on his face as he eyed the depictions of the six strange ships.

Drakon glanced at Morgan for her reaction and saw the exact same expression on her face. “What do you think?”

Morgan grinned, all of her usual cockiness back. “We need what they've
got.”

“Don't start planning a boarding operation.”

“And victory celebrations may be a bit premature,” Malin added. “A second group of enigmas has launched a bombardment.”

Drakon muttered a curse, swiveling to look at the display. Sure enough, the group headed for the gas giant had unleashed projectiles aimed at the mobile forces facility and the battleship still present there. “We need that thing to move.”

“We couldn't send an order in time for it to be received,” Iceni corrected him. “Whatever has happened, has already happened. Kapitan-Leytenant Kontos has shown some remarkable abilities in the past. I am sure he will realize the need to move that battleship before the bombardment reaches it. Kommodor Marphissa could not reach those enigma ships in time to stop their launch, but she will prevent them from doing more damage.”

But, within moments, Iceni's surface serenity cracked. “What is he doing?”

Drakon squinted at the display, trying to understand what was happening. “The battleship has lit off its main propulsion.”

“But it is still fastened to the mobile forces facility! It will rip the dock free and possibly damage the battleship as well to no purpose!” Iceni's opinion of Kapitan-Leytenant Kontos appeared to have undergone a radical change.

But as minutes went past, Iceni's expression shifted again, to incomprehension. “According to the data feed from the battleship, he's got his main propulsion going at almost full, but he's still tied to the facility. How is that possible?”

“The entire facility is moving,” the command center supervisor reported helpfully.

“I can see that!” Iceni seethed. “Why isn't it coming apart under the strain? What the hell is Kontos doing?”

As if in answer to her, a transmission came in showing Kapitan-Leytenant Kontos on the bridge of the battleship
Midway
. As usual, the youthful Kontos showed an unruffled attitude despite the dire situation. “To President Iceni. When the alien force appeared in this star system, it occurred to me that there might be a need to protect this facility from the usual form of attack. Therefore, I ordered the shipyard workers to immediately begin reinforcing the battleship's ties to the facility, using all available means. They have worked steadily, and are still working to bolster those areas as I seek to use
Midway
's propulsion to pull the facility out of the way of the incoming bombardment. I believe we have a reasonable chance of success. I have informed Kommodor Marphissa of my actions as well. If we are successful in avoiding the bombardment, I will report on the outcome. For the people, Kontos,
out.”

“He's crazy,” somebody whispered clearly enough to be heard in the hushed command center.

“It might work,” the supervisor suggested.

Iceni looked as if she might explode. “He's risking the battleship . . .
my
battleship . . . on a harebrained scheme that can't possibly—”

“Madam President?” a specialist asked with equal parts hesitancy and daring. “Projections are that the mobile forces facility will just clear the bombardment area.”

“What? Are you certain?”

“From the data feeds we are getting, the known mass of the facility, and the performance data on the battleship's main propulsion, yes, Madam President.”

Iceni stared at the display, wordless now, as the mobile forces facility and the battleship towing it moved with agonizing slowness away from the danger zone. The enigma bombardment arrived, zipping very close past the edge of the mobile forces facility before skipping across the gas giant's atmosphere and zooming off into empty space.