Shadow of Freedom

“Her” office was huge, lavishly decorated, with floor-to-ceiling windows that looked directly down on the roof and ornate façade of the Presidential Palace. She’d enjoyed its comfort since her arrival, and her communication section had set up along with the rest of her staff in the larger office suite next door. Her lofty perch had let her oversee the systematic destruction of the scum who’d been about to kick Lombroso’s worthless ass before she arrived, and she’d felt nothing but satisfaction as the effort progressed. She probably could have finished it sooner, but she’d wanted to be sure these worthless proles never forgot. That they never again even dared to think of raising their hands to Frontier Security or its allies.

Only now the fucking Manties had turned up and that worthless asshole Watson hadn’t even tried to stop them. He’d just rolled over and blown up his own ships so the Manties didn’t even have to waste any missiles on them! One of these days she’d settle his cowardly ass the way it deserved to be settled, but for now she had to deal with the goddamned Manties.

You didn’t believe it, did you? she asked herself viciously. Didn’t want to. Wang did, damn him. But not you. You knew better.

She snarled, burying the fear she didn’t want to admit under fresh anger. They hadn’t had anything to go on, really. A couple of hints from interrogation. Nothing concrete, and God knew the lying bastards would say anything—invent anything—if they thought it was going to keep somebody they cared for alive.

Admit it, she told herself. You did believe the Manties were involved, it just never occurred to you they might be this involved. You figured you had plenty of time to settle these fuckers’ hash before anyone back in Spindle even knew you were here. Jerk their goddammed rebels out from under their feet, and they wouldn’t have any ‘spontaneous uprising’ to support. But you didn’t have time, did you?

No, she hadn’t, and she gritted her teeth as she remembered how positive she’d been that the Manties would back down. That even they had to realize taking on the Solarian League was nothing more than glorified suicide. Obviously they were even stupider than she’d thought, and even now she took a grim, vengeful satisfaction from the thought of what this was going to cost them in the end. They’d pay one day—pay in spades!—for everything they’d done, for all their treachery and deceit.

But this wasn’t “one day.” This was today, and today the Manties were sitting up there in orbit, and they hadn’t even tried to talk to her or that idiot Lombroso yet. They were just sitting there, letting her sit down here and rot, but it wasn’t going to work. She had their fucking number. If they thought they were going to waltz in here and—

“Excuse me, Ma’am.”

“What?” she snarled, wheeling around to face the Mobian communications tech who’d dared to enter her office.

“There someone on the com asking for you, Ma’am,” the Presidential Guard tech said nervously, sweat beading his forehead. “He says he’s somebody named Terekhov. Commodore Terekhov.”

“Oh, he does, does he?”

Yucel felt her lips twist in anger. Terekhov. The same son-of-a-bitch who’d shot up the Monica System and started this whole frigging nightmare. She should’ve guessed.

The Mobian only stood there, looking at her, obviously uncertain whether he was supposed to answer or not and terrified to make the wrong choice. Her fingers flexed with the urge to rip his head off, but she made herself draw a deep breath, instead.

“All right. Put him on my desk display.”

“Yes, Ma’am!”

The tech disappeared like smoke, and Yucel turned towards the office’s enormous desk just as the display lit with the face of a blond, blue-eyed officer in the black and gold of the Royal Manticoran Navy.

“What?” she snapped.

“I assume I have the dubious privilege of addressing Brigadier Yucel?” The contempt in Terekhov’s tone flicked Yucel like a whip.

“I’m Yucel,” she confirmed in a harsh, hard-edged voice. “What the fuck d’you want?”

“I thought, much as the idea disgusts me, that I might offer you a chance to get off this planet alive.” Terekhov’s voice was like ice, his expression one of indifference. “Personally, I’d prefer to kill you where you stand. I’ve had the opportunity to observe your handiwork in some detail. However, since we’re all civilized people here, I decided to give you my terms, first.”