“That’s right. Come along with me. I want to talk about finding the snakes still hiding on this planet or elsewhere in this star system.”
“I’ve been digging. Got a few leads,” Morgan said as she walked beside him. They went out the front of the headquarters complex into the open area before it, guards automatically falling into place around Drakon. He glanced at the turf covering much of the plaza facing his headquarters, his mind as usual briefly recalling how much effort the Syndicate had insisted go into keeping that grass perfect, including the use of the most sophisticated genetic manipulation to create grass of just the “right” shade of green and just the right thickness of each blade of grass. He had looked at the official specifications for grass once, marveling at how much effort could be invested in something so relatively unimportant, especially given the Syndicate bureaucracy’s tendency to blow off issues regarding the safety of the soldiers who were prohibited from walking on the grass except during official functions.
Behind them, the front of the headquarters complex did not look like the fortress that it was, the armor and defenses hidden behind false windows, façades, and other decoration. In one of its odder decisions, the Syndicate bureaucracy had mandated no fences or other barriers or defenses on the other three sides of the parade plaza, declaring that ground forces headquarters must appear open and accessible to the citizens. Or perhaps the decision hadn’t been so odd since it had meant the snakes inside their Internal Security Service facilities had been better protected behind their defensive walls than the soldiers of the ground forces.
“We should fix some of this,” Drakon commented to Morgan. “Now that we can. Get some unobtrusive defenses set up along the outer perimeter of the parade area. No citizens are allowed on it anyway.” He scanned the other three sides of the plaza, where low, multiuse buildings of various designs sat across from an access road that formally separated the headquarters area from the rest of the city. A lot of the citizens were in sight, going about their business and, out of long habit, avoiding even glancing toward the headquarters. The snakes had liked to haul in anyone suspected of “surveillance,” even if the evidence for that had consisted only of a single fleeting look toward a government building.
“Now you’re talking,” Morgan agreed, and began describing a set of defenses that would have withstood a full-scale attack by an entire army.
“Maybe a little less than that,” Drakon suggested dryly, glad that he had gotten Morgan’s mind off the Alliance officer. “Have you found any leads yet on—”
Drakon would never know just what had tipped off one of his bodyguards. The woman had begun to shout a warning, her weapon out and coming up to aim, when alarms tied to automated sensors watching the area blared to life, followed a second later by shots erupting from three sides.
Chapter Nine
Iceni, head lowered in thought, bolted to attention as an urgent signal echoed in her office. “What is it?”
The staff official looking at her through the virtual window that had popped up beside her desk spoke rapidly. “We have reports of weapons being fired near General Drakon’s headquarters. Automated collection systems show an ongoing firefight.”
“A firefight?” Iceni demanded. “Not just a few shots?”
“There are scores of shots already recorded, Madam President. I have dispatched emergency tactical teams from the nearest police stations and notified the nearest hospitals to send assistance.”
“Good.” She was taking deep breaths, trying to control her heartbeat, which had begun racing.
“Hundreds of messages, alerts, and bulletins in news channels and other media about the fighting are being held up by the censoring software.”
“Keep doing that until we find out what’s going on,” Iceni ordered.
The officer looked to one side, his expression going from concerned to horrified. “Dozens of unconfirmed media reports saying that General Drakon is dead are coming in and being blocked from further transmission, Madam President.”
Dead? No. Impossible. Not him. She inhaled slowly again. “Hold those as well. I want to know everything as fast as we learn it.”
“But if General Drakon is—”
“He’s not dead!”
The officer stared, then nodded. “I understand, Madam President. I will send a constant data feed to your desk.”
“Get it going,” Iceni said, her voice under control again. As the officer’s image vanished, her hand went to her comm unit, then hesitated. If he’s alive, and people are shooting at him, he doesn’t need distractions.
Where the hell is Togo?
The female bodyguard died before she could get off a shot, as did two other guards, but her warning had given Drakon the extra instant he needed to dive for cover and avoid subsequent shots aimed at him. Not that there was much cover in this open area, by order of the Syndicate bureaucracy.
Drakon sprawled behind the body of one of his guards, his weapon in his hand, trying to spot some of the locations where the shots were coming from as solid projectiles and energy bursts tore holes in the very-carefully-maintained turf near him. Even under these circumstances, a small part of his mind couldn’t help recalling certain bosses he had suffered under who would have been far more upset about the damage to the grass than the deaths of the bodyguards.
Two meters away, Morgan, her face a mask of rage, was lying near another dead guard, her weapon out, one hand supporting her weapon hand as she fired with steady, careful accuracy. Other defensive fire was going out, the surviving bodyguards and the sentries at the entrance to the headquarters hurling shots at the places among the low buildings surrounding the plaza from which the attackers were firing.
Spotting the location of one attacker, Drakon aimed and squeezed off three carefully spaced shots. It’s been about fifteen seconds since they opened fire, another part of his mind calculated with cold precision. The reaction security force inside headquarters will be out here within another forty-five seconds.
The attackers had ceased aiming at the guards and now were concentrating their fire on Drakon. He wondered if forty-five seconds would be too long. Bad enough to be the target of so many attackers when in battle armor, but right now all he had were the defenses in his uniform, which while sufficient for some protection would not stop the sort of barrage that was directed at him.
Morgan glanced back at him, sizing up his situation and his peril in an instant, her eyes dark and wide.
She bolted to her feet, instantly becoming the most prominent target on the plaza.
“Morgan!” Drakon shouted, firing rapidly at a couple of spots from which shots were coming. “Get down!”
She ignored his command, not just charging furiously ahead but also screaming defiance and firing as she ran to generate the maximum amount of attention. Morgan could move like a ghost when she wanted to. Right now, she was doing all that she could to attract the fire of the attackers to her, and away from Drakon. Morgan was dodging as she moved to make shots aimed at her more difficult, but was still hideously exposed. In full battle armor, such a maneuver would be very risky. With Morgan wearing no armor at all, her charge was insane.
Unable to stop her, Drakon took advantage of the distraction Morgan had provided to rise to one knee and aim, ignoring the shots still aimed at him that tore into the turf or zipped past his head. His next shot caused a figure to fall. He shifted targets, firing several more times.
Soldiers were spilling out of the headquarters entrance and secondary exits, menacing in armor, carrying combat weapons, and searching for targets.