“From what I can see, it appears that the aliens called the Dancers are returning home. I would appreciate confirmation of this.” I hate begging. Why did you make me ask, Black Jack? I suppose you’re just reminding me how much power you have compared to me. “They sent us a message directly. Watch the different stars. We have no idea what that means.” Would Black Jack? When last here, he had claimed to have only basic communication with the alien minds of the Dancers, but perhaps in the time since then, some breakthroughs had occurred.
“I am certain that our current domestic disturbances are the work of foreign agents.” And perhaps some local sources. But who are they? “I will be focusing my efforts on calming the situation here without resorting to Syndicate methods.” Those methods are no longer available to me even if I wanted to use them, but I might as well present the whole mess in the best possible light.
“Please advise me of your plans. I remain your friend and ally, President Iceni.” Don’t make me crawl! You need me, too, whether you realize it or not! “For the people. Out.”
It would take nearly eight hours to receive a reply if Black Jack sent one. Space is too damned big, Iceni thought. Where is—?
A special tone sounded on her comm system. Iceni’s hand darted out to touch the receive command and watched Colonel Rogero’s image appear once more. He was in a clean uniform now, but his sidearm holster was empty. “The ground forces have been briefed and prepared, Madam President. Everyone fully understands what the risks are, what we are to do, and what must not be done. We are ready.”
“Why are you unarmed, Colonel?” Iceni asked.
“I will go out there with my soldiers.”
“There has already been one recent attempt to assassinate you, Colonel. Did something about the event cause it to not register on your mind? Were the explosions too small?”
Rogero smiled in the face of her wrath. “I understand the risk, Madam President. I do have a concealed weapon. But I believe it is critically important that I go out there with my men and women, and I cannot look as if I am threatening my own soldiers by being armed when they are not.”
“Colonel Rogero,” Iceni said in her most even voice, “you do realize that, if our fears regarding Ulindi come true, you may be the senior surviving ground forces officer? That the future security of Midway Star System may already be dependent on your survival and your steady hand?”
This time, Rogero hesitated a moment before replying. “Madam President, I would not be going out there if I did not believe it was absolutely necessary to ensure that Midway has a future. There is an old saying that he who will not risk cannot win. I am certain that applies here.”
“What about me?” Iceni asked. “Will there be a requirement for me to risk in a similar fashion? Do you believe I should expose myself as well?”
Another moment of hesitation, then Rogero shook his head. “Not immediately. I would recommend waiting to see how things go when the ground forces deploy. Most of the soldiers are workers in the eyes of the citizens, and our officers are relatively junior supervisors. We all take orders. You, on the other hand, give orders. That’s how the citizens see it, so you represent the ultimate level of authority for them. If you decide that the situation remains in the balance despite our efforts, an open appearance from you at that time could make all the difference.”
“I agree,” Iceni said. “Make sure you do not die, Colonel Rogero. I shall be extremely upset with you if that happens.”
He grinned, accidentally revealing his own tension in the quickness and tightness of the expression. “I will keep that in mind, Madam President. We will move out in five minutes.”
“I will have media reactivated as you do so,” Iceni said. “I am assured that the worms and bots that previously prevented us from controlling what went out along media channels have now been deactivated, and we once again control all media.”
“Excellent,” Rogero said. “If anything we don’t want gets through despite that—”
“I don’t think we have to worry about that, Colonel. I asked my techs how many software engineers it would take to deactivate a bomb in the same room with them, and none of them seemed eager to learn the answer through experimental trials.”
“Well, that would be another hardware problem, wouldn’t it?” Rogero saluted, then nodded to her. “I will report in after this is over, Madam President.”
“See that you do.”
She checked her clothing. A nice suit, not the standard Syndicate CEO suit, which she had grown to loathe, but rather something that had no trace of the Syndicate to its cut and color. A suit that projected authority and power but not ruthlessness. Iceni took a good look at her hair and face. Neither was perfect, but that was all to the good. If the citizens needed to see her, they needed to see her as human, as one of them in some ways. Being a president had proven to be much more of a challenge than being an autocratic CEO, but she had already learned a lot.
Then she waited, watching the many virtual windows.
“Madam President? Should we open media broadcasts as scheduled?”
“Yes. Do it.”
She saw random patterns of reaction moving through the restive crowds as media access was restored, and citizens began searching for information.
The ground forces appeared. Not just Colonel Rogero’s, but all of the local soldiers as well.
None of them wore armor. None of them carried weapons. They wore their uniforms neatly, proudly, and walked with slow, confident strides as they marched in many small formations along the streets and toward the plazas and parks where the crowds were massed.
Iceni zoomed in some views, knowing that every media channel would be showing similar images. The citizens nearest the soldiers were watching them, instinctive fear and hostility toward the traditional enforcers of Syndicate control shading into bafflement at the lack of riot-suppression equipment.
The soldiers smiled and waved as they marched, small clusters of uniforms isolated amid the mobs. If the mobs turned on them, they would be swamped in moments.
There was Colonel Rogero, walking with some of his soldiers, looking as if he had not a care in the world.
“Everything is fine,” Iceni heard some of the soldiers saying.
“No problems,” from others.
“Do you need anything?”
“Is everyone all right?”
Iceni eyed the scenes, listened to the voices, watched various media channels showing actions and reactions. She let her instincts evaluate all of those things, let her next action be dictated not by cold calculation but by processes operating below the level of conscious thought. She had risen through the Syndicate ranks by reading people, by sensing their moods and their attitudes, and at the moment that particular skill told her something very important.
The efforts of Rogero’s ground forces weren’t enough. The crowds were still wavering, still uncertain. They knew the ground forces would be following orders, her orders, and if she was following the old Syndicate ways, she would not be worried about what would happen to those soldiers if everything went bad.
The people needed another push, another demonstration, one dramatic enough to finally tip the balance.
Iceni looked down, closed her eyes, centered herself internally on the calm, cool place inside where her emotional core lay.
She got up and walked out of her office.
Her bodyguards leaped into position around her as she walked, but Iceni waved them back. “Stay here.” She felt naked in her vulnerability, wondering once again what had happened to Togo, but kept walking with a firm, steady stride as the bodyguards stopped moving, obedient to her command but staring after her with uncomprehending eyes.