Malin nodded soberly. “Yes, sir. We want her working with us.”
“Morgan would recommend getting her out of the way if she didn’t play ball.”
“Morgan would be mistaken,” Malin insisted. “Someone like Kamara could make all the difference in the formation of a strong, stable government here. I didn’t see any other players in there with her level of authority, and to the citizens here, she is the hero who defeated the loyalists. Get rid of Kamara, and there’s no one to step into the void. The Free Taroans want a government with elections from top to bottom, General. They might just elect Kamara on their own if she’s around to be a candidate.”
“If they do that, and if Kamara proves to be what we need, then fine. If the Taroans work out an elected government, we might learn a few things from them. If it doesn’t work, then we’ll still learn a few things and have a cautionary example for anyone pushing for that kind of thing in our star system.” Drakon studied Malin. “Speaking of which, you seem to have given that a lot of thought, Colonel Malin. And you seem to know a lot more about different forms of government than the Syndicate liked people knowing.”
Malin nodded with a serious expression. “Everyone requires a hobby, General.”
An evasive answer, one that revealed nothing. But clearly Malin wasn’t going to say more unless pressed hard, and Drakon couldn’t believe that Malin would betray him. “You picked a strange hobby. And a dangerous one. Just get enough agents in our pay on this planet, and get those agents working to make happen what we want to happen.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll be leaving here within the hour. There’s some work in that respect that needs to be personally carried out in another city.” Malin saluted and rushed off. Drakon had no doubt that by the time they left this star system, there would be a widespread and effective system of covert agents working to accomplish his and Iceni’s goals.
It should have pleased him. Everything was working out. But Drakon felt dissatisfied. The Free Taroans had been extremely aggravating, outwardly thankful and yet carefully avoiding actually offering anything in exchange for the aid they had received. They had even balked at the simple truth that the orbital docks, and the battleship being constructed there, were now the property of those who had taken them from the Syndicate government. Yet the Free Taroans had also been so enthusiastic and idealistic. They were fools, doomed to disappointment when their dreams collided with reality, but . . . it would be nice to have something to be enthusiastic about. It would be nice to have something to believe in besides maintaining power, keeping his skin in one piece, and foiling his enemies. How long had it been since he had felt either enthusiasm or idealism?
Though he had felt something with Iceni. She seemed to be looking for that, too, some bigger reason to be in charge, some purpose beyond survival.
Unfortunately, Iceni wasn’t here. She was light-years distant. Drakon looked around. Sentries stood here and there, watching for threats. He wasn’t alone, but he didn’t exactly have company either. Kai was half a continent away. Gaiene was probably already drunk and trying to see how many women he could get through in one night. Colonel Senski wasn’t sufficiently well-known to relax with. Malin was off setting up the spy network. And Drakon didn’t think he had the energy or patience to deal with Morgan’s idea of conversation tonight.
The Interim Congress of Free Taroa had shown its appreciation for him by giving him the living quarters of the former star-system CEO for the night. That had cost them nothing, of course. Drakon hadn’t been able to find out what had happened to that CEO. Everyone knew that the CEO had left for refuge with the ISS when the civil war broke out, but after that, the trail got hazy. The CEO might have caught a ride on one of the ships the snakes had managed to send out of the star system, but other reports claimed that the CEO had been executed for failure or treason or whatever grounds the snakes wanted to use and the body disposed of. Either way, there didn’t seem much chance of the CEO’s showing up again, and the living areas and offices had been gone over with a fine-toothed comb for surveillance devices and booby traps.
Drakon keyed in the access code and entered, looking around with amusement. The former CEO on Taroa had some luxurious tastes, especially considering that Taroa hadn’t been that wealthy a star system even before the civil war hit it hard. The former CEO must have engaged in some truly epic skimming of tax revenue to afford such a setup. The bedroom featured not just expensive art and sculptures, not just a full bar well stocked even with liquors from Alliance planets that had been available only through the black market for the last century, and not just a bed big enough for an entire squad of soldiers to have used without squeezing together, but also an actual fireplace in one corner, framed by an expansive marble mantel.
None of it had done that CEO much good when the revolution started. As a matter of fact, the corruption this place implied had probably helped trigger the three-way fight that had sent the CEO fleeing.
Drakon strolled over to the fireplace, peered at the controller almost invisibly set into the marble, then activated it. A decent blaze erupted from the logs, filling the room with flickering light. Laughing self-mockingly at the indulgence, Drakon walked to the bar and examined the contents. Rum from Hispan! Amazing. Filling a tall glass, Drakon sprawled into a plush chair and gazed at the fire.
He had forgotten the problem with fires. When the flames danced, you could see things in them. After having risen to the rank of CEO, after having fought far too many battles, the things Drakon saw in the fire were not born of pleasant memories. Crowding to the forefront was that city. Where had it been? Some Alliance planet. Burning. Square kilometers in flames, no one to put them out, all automated firefighting systems destroyed, soldiers in armor moving among the holocaust, adding to the destruction as they struggled for control of the city ablaze around them. He had never seen so many things burning. Towering buildings, long stretches of low-slung housing, trees . . .
He remembered being told as he stood with his surviving soldiers amid the smoking ruins that the Syndicate ground forces had triumphed and controlled what had once been a city. A week later, with Alliance reinforcements storming into the star system, Drakon and the others still alive had been evacuated as the badly outnumbered remnants of the Syndicate mobile forces withdrew.
In official reports, it had been described as a Syndicate victory.
The first drink didn’t douse the fires in his memories. He went back to the bar for a second. That was better. But recollections of old battles and dead friends still kept crowding in to destroy the tranquillity he sought, and that undefined sense of discontent with events at Taroa still troubled him, so Drakon got a third. He rarely did this, rarely drank so much, but that night he understood Gaiene better than usual. Even thinking about that new battleship, which might be a year away from being completed and operational, didn’t help. If he couldn’t find temporary tranquillity tonight, temporary oblivion would have to do.
He was well into the third large drink when the door alarm sounded. Nobody could have gotten to that door without passing a lot of sentry posts, so Drakon called out “open” and watched the locks release and the portal swing wide.
Morgan walked in like a panther fresh from a kill. The light from the fire glimmered on her black skin suit as the door swung shut again. Instead of being absorbed by the dull fabric, the firelight seemed to pick out every curve visible under the tight garment. “Hey, boss.” She looked around with a comically puzzled expression. “I expected to see lots of ravaged women lying around here.”
Drakon made a face. “That’s not my style, Morgan.”
“General, I know you like women.”
“I do. But I don’t force women. Never have. Never will. That’s for weaklings and cowards.” He finished the third drink in a single swallow while the little monkey in the back of his male mind made excited noises as it watched Morgan move a few steps closer with lethal grace.
“You could hire a woman. Or two or three,” Morgan suggested with a sly smile. “Malin could get them for you. That man is a born pimp if I ever saw one.”
“I don’t need to hire women,” Drakon said with some heat.
“Of course you don’t. You can have any woman you want. They’d come to you willingly. Because you’re a winner, General.” Morgan had stopped a few feet from him, smiling down at Drakon where he sat. “And if you listen to those who want you to win, you can do anything.”
Drakon tried to silence the jabbering alcohol-fueled monkey that was bouncing around so wildly in his head that he couldn’t focus on the warnings his common sense seemed to be trying to get across. “Sure. Look. I’m tired and stressed. Why don’t you—”
“I know you’re stressed. How long has it been, General? I know men. I know how you get. A man needs certain things, and the bigger the man, the more he needs.” Her smile had widened and taken on a quality that the monkey really, really liked. “You need a strong woman. A woman as strong as you are.”
“Morgan—” Drakon began, then the thought of whatever he was going to say vanished from his mind as Morgan reached up and started unsealing her skin suit.
She ran the seal open from shoulder to thigh with one long, languorous motion, then slowly peeled off the suit. The firelight shimmered on her body, Morgan’s eyes glinting with a muted red glow in the reflected light of the flames. “Let’s celebrate your victory,” she said.
He tried to say no, but the drinks had given the monkey enough power to silence any other voices in his head. And the monkey wanted her more than anything. Morgan pounced across the remaining distance between them, tearing at his clothes, and he could see nothing, know nothing, want nothing but the feel of her.
* * *
WHEN
he awoke the next morning she was gone, leading to a very brief flash of hope that the whole thing had been an exceptionally vivid, detailed, and extended dream. But then he spotted the torn sheets, felt some bruises and scratches that hadn’t been there the night before, and realized that he never could have imagined some of the things Morgan had done with him.
It wasn’t the hangover that made him punch the wall hard enough to splinter the fine wood paneling.
* * *
DRAKON
did not want to reenter the former CEO’s bedroom suite once he had cleaned up and dressed. The office next to that set of rooms, though, had an impressive set of security equipment and would do fine for any work he had to accomplish. And there was definitely something that he had to do. “Colonel Morgan, I need to speak with you privately.”
She arrived a few minutes later, outwardly acting normally. Normally for Morgan, that was. But he probably wasn’t imagining the ghost of a smile that kept appearing whenever she looked at him. “Yes, General?”
He stayed as unbending as he could manage. “I wanted to ensure that you understood that the events of last night would not be repeated.”
“Last night?” Morgan did smile openly this time. “Wasn’t it worth repeating?”
He hoped his reaction hadn’t shown.
I’ve never had a night like that, and I want it again, and again, but I won’t.
“You know how I feel about sleeping with subordinates. I’m disappointed that you didn’t respect that.”
She looked puzzled. “Did I force you?”
“No.” Arguing that she took advantage of his being drunk would sound silly as well as weak. “I made a mistake. It won’t happen again.”
“That’s your decision, General.”
“Do you mind telling me what you hoped to accomplish?”
Morgan grinned once more. “I think it was pretty obvious what I was trying to accomplish last night. And I succeeded. More than once.”
Memories of that night warred with his desire to remain angry. “And that was it? That was all you were after?”
“Oh . . . yeah.” Morgan’s smile changed, and her voice grew serious. “General Drakon, everything I do is in your best interests.”
“Then respect my wishes. I won’t speak of this again.”
“I like a man who doesn’t boast about his conquests.” Morgan pretended to flinch at Drakon’s expression. “I understand, General. One-night stand. It’s over.”
“That’s all.”
Several minutes after Morgan left, Malin arrived. Was it just his imagination, or did Malin seem more formal than usual? Drakon had no illusions that no one else was aware that Morgan had spent a good, long time in his private quarters. Few besides Malin would fault him for that, and for some reason, that aggravated him even more. “What?” he asked Malin.
Malin paused at Drakon’s tone of voice. “I have an update on the ‘wounded’ that Colonel Gaiene sent up to the orbital docks, General.”
“Oh.” The world went on, despite his own failures and discomfort. “Have they completed interrogating and screening them?”
“Yes, General. Full-scale interrogation, and none displayed signs of having been trained to mislead that.” Malin checked his reader. “Of the eighty-seven who surrendered to Colonel Gaiene’s brigade, six are confirmed as having actively participated in atrocities against citizens. Nineteen more witnessed such atrocities but did not participate themselves. The remainder belonged to subunits whose commanding officers evaded orders to carry out atrocities against Syndicate citizens. They neither witnessed nor participated in such actions.”
Drakon sat back, trying to focus on those numbers. “Did any of those subunit commanding officers survive and surrender to us?”
“Two, General. One executive and one subexecutive are among the eighty-seven.”
“Offer them comparable positions in our forces. I want the nineteen soldiers who witnessed atrocities rescreened. Make sure they didn’t participate in doing things like that to our own citizens because they wouldn’t, not because they just weren’t personally asked. I want to know what soldiers in my command
will
do instead of wondering
what
they’ll do. Offer positions in our forces to the soldiers who didn’t commit or witness atrocities, but spread them around through the brigades, and if they accept, I want their service records altered to indicate they belonged to one of the units the Free Taroans said didn’t commit atrocities.” He didn’t bother adding that such alterations should be undetectable. Malin was very good at such things and would make sure that no one could tell that the service records had been changed.