“Oh, yes, sir. Like someone out of a labor camp? I’ll pass the word.”
The background drone of conversation rose to a roar as Gwen Iceni walked onto the dock, waving to the citizens behind the security barricades. “I-cen-eh! I-cen-eh!” the crowds chanted between cheers.
Drakon walked to meet her. “You’re popular,” he observed.
She eyed him, unexpectedly smiled, then grabbed his hand with one of hers and raised both high while turning to face the crowds full on. Drakon felt uncomfortable as the cheers redoubled and he heard cries of “Dra-kon!” and “the General!” mixed with the adulation for Iceni.
“I don’t trust it,” he muttered to Iceni, as she lowered her arm and released his hand.
“The hero worship from the mob?” she asked. “You’re right not to trust it. It can shift like the weather, and they’d be howling for our blood instead of chanting our names worshipfully. It was a good idea to meet up here together. It lets everyone see us doing something jointly, as a team.”
“Maybe we should look for anyone who appears unhappy at that,” Drakon commented.
“That’s not a bad idea.” She spoke into her personal comm. “My security detail will do a software search of security-camera imagery for discontented expressions.”
“Where are your bodyguards?”
“If the need arises for them, you’ll see them.” She smiled. “Yours?”
“I’ve got soldiers on hand.”
“Do you know of any specific threats?”
“No,” Drakon replied. “That bothers me. Somebody should be mouthing off, somebody should be getting drunk and boasting about what he or she would do someday, somebody who hates the CEOs should be planning to hit us because of our past. And then there’s the hidden snake agents out there. Why aren’t I hearing anything? Somebody went after you.”
“True. We can’t let our guards down, and the lack of reported threats to either of us is odd. We’re going to have to worry about threats to Captain Bradamont now as well. She will be coming off the ship first. We need our citizens to see this Alliance officer as a friend. How better to do so than by having her release to us the prisoners liberated by Black Jack?”
“It won’t be enough, but it’ll be a start,” Drakon conceded. “There goes the hatch. Let’s hope this doesn’t turn into a fiasco.”
The background noise of talking and shouting among the citizens dwindled rapidly as Captain Bradamont came walking out of the hatch, heading straight for Drakon and Iceni. Her Alliance uniform was impossible to miss, as was the fact that she was not walking like a prisoner. The conversation among the citizens died out completely before a few angry shouts erupted.
By then, Bradamont had reached Drakon and Iceni. She came to attention and saluted in the Alliance fashion, the fingertips of her right hand to her right brow, holding the gesture as she spoke. “President Iceni, General Drakon,” she said in a voice that easily carried. “It is my great pleasure to deliver to you on behalf of the Alliance the citizens who were formerly held captive by the enigma alien race. We have brought them home, as they wished, and now release them to the care of their friends, families, and loved ones.”
Drakon returned a Syndic salute, right fist coming across to rest on his left breast. “Thank you.”
Iceni nodded. “We are all in debt to Black Jack, who liberated these citizens from the enigmas, brought them back to us through great dangers, and asked for nothing in return for them.”
The buzz of conversation this time was much more subdued as the citizens reacted to the show that been put on for their benefit. Drakon suspected that Bradamont’s little speech had been edited by Iceni before the freighter carrying her arrived.
Bradamont stepped a little closer and spoke much more quietly. “Watch the liberated prisoners carefully when they come out and handle them gently if they start to act up. They’re very jumpy. Not dangerous. Just scared.”
“Got it,” Drakon said, watching as the liberated prisoners began coming out of the hatch. Some wore new overalls and other clothing provided by the Alliance, while many others clung to the patchwork assortment of clothing they had worn when liberated. They walked in a group, staying together like a herd of animals seeking protection, some looking around in wonder and others staring fixedly ahead. Most of them broke into relieved smiles as they saw images and uniforms that told them they were indeed home.
One of them, an elderly man, saw Drakon and pulled himself away from the others. He straightened and saluted in a jerky, rusty way, as if the gesture were something dimly remembered.
“Line Worker Olan Paster,” he announced. “Reporting for duty.”
Drakon regarded the old man somberly as he returned the salute. “What is your unit?”
“Hunter-Killer 9356G, sir.”
“G-model Hunter-Killers haven’t been constructed for decades,” Iceni said. She looked up from a quick data check. “HuK 9356G is listed as having disappeared at Pele forty-five years ago.”
“It has been that long?” The old man blinked in confusion. “We had no way to track time. The Alliance told us the universal date, but we wondered. I’m sorry. I don’t know the clothes you wear, so I don’t know what title to give you.”
“We’ve discarded standard Syndic outfits,” Drakon told him. “I’m General Drakon, this is President Iceni. We are no longer part of the Syndicate Worlds.”
“Not… Syndicate?”
“No,” Iceni said, smiling reassuringly now. “There are no snakes in this star system,” she announced to all of the former prisoners. “We are no longer servants to the Syndicate, no longer slaves to the CEOs on Prime. We, and you, are free. You will be given living quarters on this station and treated well. As soon as any family members in this star system are identified, they will be allowed to visit you. Cooperate to the best of your ability in answering all questions. Citizens from Taroa, we have accepted temporary custody of you pending your acceptance by the new government in Taroa Star System. The rest of you are welcome here while we locate your homes and try to arrange transportation.”
A woman of late middle age stared at Drakon. “What has happened to the Syndicate Worlds? The Alliance workers told us they had won the war, that it was over. We didn’t believe them.”
“Did the Alliance treat you well?” Iceni asked for the benefit of the onlookers.
“Yes. Yes, they were good to us.”
“The war is over,” Drakon said. “You’ll have access to current news as well as archives and history so you can catch up on events.”
“Thank you, honored CEO—”
“General,” Drakon interrupted. “My rank is General. The civilian leader of this star system is President Iceni. CEOs no longer rule here.”
“For the people!” Iceni said loudly, drawing renewed cheers from the onlookers as doctors began leading the liberated prisoners toward the room block set aside for them.
A small child, who must have never known freedom, broke away from the group and ran up to Captain Bradamont. “Thank you! Thank you for saving us!” the child cried before her mother caught up and led her back to the group.
Drakon glanced at Iceni and saw her smiling. That little incident would play very well on every newscast and other form of media. I wonder if Gwen somehow set that up, too?
Captain Bradamont watched the prisoners leave, then faced Drakon and Iceni again. “I am at your service.”
She was putting up a good act. He had to give Bradamont credit for that. But Drakon could see the nervousness behind her unruffled façade.
“So I understand,” Drakon said. “Come along. Your bags will be brought down later.”