Free The Lost Stars by Jack Campbell Page B

unless it found Black Jack doing something it shouldn’t assist, and the intentions of those six new ships were a mystery.
    In some ways, space combat could be pretty complicated.
    â€œAnother front-row seat as we watch how Black Jack leads his forces,” Drakon commented.
    â€œThat is no small thing,” Iceni replied.
    But he found it hard to stay engaged while watching depictions of two forces “rushing” toward each other at what seemed to be a snail’s pace because of the scale of the battlefield. Especially since whatever happened when they met had already happened. Eventually, the light from that event would reach here, hours after the actual clash.
    Drakon’s thoughts strayed to the problem of finding out who had sent a message to the Syndicate flotilla from this command center. The software governing the many functions of the systems here was riddled with subprograms, worms, and sentries, many inserted by official actors in the name of monitoring activity, security, safety, and reliability.
Or, as the workers call it, Aim the Blame. They know if anything happens, the people in charge want to have enough data to be able to pin the fault on whichever scapegoat they choose.
    But Drakon knew there was also a welter of unapproved, unofficial, and outright illegal subprograms, worms, and Trojan horses woven through software that had become too complex to ever be purged of invaders. He had made use of such things himself at times in order to learn things he wasn’t supposed to know, or to accomplish things he wasn’t supposed to do. Another CEO had once speculated to him that half of whatever the Syndicate Worlds got done was the result of working around the system.
And I told him I thought half was way too low a figure. There’s irony for you. For all that we disliked, or hated, the Syndicate system, we’re the ones who kept it going by finding ways to get the job done even when that system tried to make it impossible.
    Right now, Malin and Morgan were both using their own methods to dig through the morass of software to spot the signs of their quarry. If someone had sent a message to the Syndicate flotilla using the comm systems in this command center, then there would be some trace of that activity somewhere. Like hunters nosing through the underbrush in search of a bent twig or a twisted stem, Malin and Morgan would find some sign. Once they had one hint of their quarry, one or both of them would use that to find other tracks. The tracks would form a trail, and the quarry would be run to earth. The only unknowns were how long it would take and whether both Malin and Morgan would nail the prey, or if one of them would manage to run it down first.
    Iceni’s right-hand man Togo had come back, leaning close to Iceni and whispering some report to her. It must have been something sensitive that he wouldn’t want to risk being intercepted or overheard on even a supposedly secure comm circuit, but Drakon was certain Togo hadn’t yet found the source of the transmission.
    I don’t doubt that Togo is good. Iceni wouldn’t have him around, and so close to her, if he wasn’t very capable. But Togo isn’t driven by the intense rivalry between Malin and Morgan. That rivalry can be a real pain to deal with, but it’s also invaluable a lot of the time.
    I wonder what does drive Togo? That could be important to know.
    â€œGeneral,” Malin said in a way that immediately brought Drakon out of his contemplation of Togo and Iceni’s relationship.
    Had Malin won the race already?
    But as Drakon looked at Malin, he saw that the colonel wasn’t displaying triumph. Instead, Malin was looking toward the entrance to the command center.
    Morgan had come strolling in. She didn’t appear to be in any hurry, moving with the leisurely certainty of a panther closing in on trapped prey. One of her hands had reached down and was in the process of drawing the