Cobra Slave

by Timothy Zahn

  “Or trying to get me to refuse his order to make Yates give up his factory,” Lorne said as the pieces finally fell into place. “He wants to get me on some Dominion charge so that he and Santores can pry me away from Chintawa.”

  “Bingo,” de Portola said. “And as a side note, I’ll point out that by laying into you in front of all those witnesses Ishikuma made it clear that none of us are going to lift a finger to help you out in any way.” He hunched his shoulders. “Hopefully, this will all blow over and that won’t be necessary. But if it doesn’t…”

  For a minute they drove in silence. Lorne gazed out the window, again feeling the disorientation of watching his universe shift around him. He’d just been through the hell of one war. Was Commodore Santores really this determined to push them to the edge of another?

  He stole a sideways look at the scar on de Portola’s cheek. The Cobras in Capitalia might have obeyed Chintawa’s order to sit out the Troft invasion. But it was clear that the Cobras out here in the expansion regions hadn’t.

  And if Santores ordered those Cobras into a war against the Hoibies…

  “How did you knock out those Marines?” he asked suddenly.

  De Portola shot him a suspicious look. “Why? You thinking about trying it?”

  “I’m thinking it would be a nice thing to have in my skill set,” Lorne said. “You and Werle seemed to do just fine.”

  “Only because we were lucky,” de Portola said. “We caught them by surprise. And we caught them in their dress uniforms instead of these night-fighter things they all seem to be wearing now. Or weren’t you paying attention during our joint spine leopard hunt this morning?”

  “Yeah, I saw the lasers in the epaulets and the electrical grid pattern in the torso sections,” Lorne confirmed. “Any idea what that grid thing was all about?”

  “I’m guessing it had something to do with rigidity,” de Portola said. “You notice the pattern was only over the core body sections and didn’t extend over the major limbs or joints. I’m guessing it was a sort of instant armor, with the positioning a compromise between protection and mobility.”

  “Not that they seem to do a lot of moving when they fight,” Lorne pointed out. De Portola’s analysis made sense—the Qasaman combat suits had similar stiffeners running through the material, also triggered by small currents.

  Except that the Qasaman suits had used that rigidity in conjunction with strength-enhancing servos, allowing their Djinn warriors to mimic Cobra combat abilities. If de Portola was right, the Dominion Marines were mainly interested in the protection aspects of the system.

  “Yeah, well, it’s not like they have to do much moving,” de Portola said sourly. “Did you happen to catch the fire pattern from their epaulets?”

  “They were punching out figure-eights,” Lorne said, nodding. “Scatter-gun approach—they weren’t sure where the spine leopard kill points were, so they fired everywhere and hoped for the best.”

  “Basically,” de Portola said. “Except for one small detail. They weren’t doing that targeting manually. I mean, I’m sure they were firing manually, but the figure-eights were pre-programmed.”

  Lorne raised his eyebrows. “Really? I thought parrot guns just fired wherever the gunner was looking.”

  “Maybe that’s how they worked a hundred years ago,” de Portola said. “But they’ve gotten more sophisticated since then. Another thing: I got a good look at their tactics on that second encounter, and neither of them so much as looked over their shoulders during the attack. Either they’re more arrogant or stupid than they have any right to be, or else they’ve got some kind of sensor array watching their backs.”

  “Tied into the parrot guns, no doubt,” Lorne agreed. “I wonder how they keep from shooting each other if one of them happens to come into range.”

  De Portola shrugged. “Must have some kind of Identify Friend/Foe setup. They’d be stupid to run that kind of weaponry without one.”

  “True,” Lorne said. “On the other hand, the Trofts on Qasama had IFF systems, too, and we found a way to turn them to our advantage. I’ll bet we can do it here, too.”

  “Maybe,” de Portola said. “One more thing. As near as I could tell, their right forefingers twitched each time they fired, so that must be the firing mechanism. And you were right, the targeting is optical—they looked at each spine leopard before they fired. But it seemed to be a single, real-time system, without the multiple sequential targeting locks we have.”

  “Maybe those extras come with a helmet or visor or something,” Lorne said, looking curiously at the other. “You got all this while you were wrestling with a spine leopard?”

  “What wrestling?” de Portola asked with a shrug. “The thing was already dead. I just wanted an excuse to flail around in one place while I watched them work.”

  Lorne shook his head. “You always were a little nuts.”

  “Yeah, I got a lot of that from people during the war,” he said ruefully. “So. You have anything to add to our little library?”

  “Only that all that fancy figure-eight programming is probably tucked away inside the inner edges of the epaulets,” Lorne told him. “Those were the only places that weren’t warm after all the firing.”

  “Really,” de Portola said thoughtfully. “Nice—I missed that one. I wonder what happens if you fry those spots.”

  “I doubt it totally disables the lasers,” Lorne said. “That would be a pretty stupid design. I’d guess it probably kills any programming presets, though. So how did you take them out back in town?”

  “Like I said, we were lucky,” de Portola said. “Badj blew out a tire as they passed, and when they opened their doors we dropped in from above and behind and zapped them with a combination of sonics and our stunners.” He gestured. “But don’t count on getting away with that one now. Any material as shiny as those combat suits has to have some serious conductivity going. I wouldn’t even trust a full-power arcthrower to get through, let alone a stun blast. And if they’re smart, they’ll already have a defense ready against sonics.”

  “Though you could go for a head shot with your stunner,” Lorne pointed out.

  “Bad idea,” de Portola warned. “Current designed to overload voluntary-muscle nerves might have nasty side effects when blasted straight to the brain. It might even kill him.”

  “Which is the last thing we want right now,” Lorne agreed, wincing. Still, if it ever came down to one of them or one of his fellow Cobras…

  Firmly, he pushed the thought away. His job—all the Cobras’ jobs—was to make sure it didn’t come to that. “What happened to Tristan?” he asked.

  De Portola’s lips compressed briefly. “He was killed in a raid on one of the Troft ships,” he said. He threw Lorne a tight smile. “Did you know they had to bring a second warship to Archway? We made that much of a nuisance of ourselves that they actually needed reinforcements.”

  “Good for you,” Lorne said, inclining his head. “I wish I’d been here to help.”

  “Yeah.” De Portola’s smile faded. “You know…I’d like to think it all meant something. All the work. Especially all the lives.”

  “It did,” Lorne assured him. “Believe me. The victory at Qasama might have been what brought the Tlossies and other demesnes into the war, but it was you and the Caelians and everyone else who convinced the invaders not to argue the point when the Tlossie ships showed up. Not to mention that every ship and Troft you pinned down here was one the Qasamans didn’t have to deal with. No, you guys did your part. And everyone knows it.”

  “Yeah,” de Portola said. “Maybe.”

  A minute later they pulled onto the field. Ten minutes after that, they were in an aircar headed for the tiny farming and logging community of Bitter Creek.

  Where Lorne would try to step into the shoes of a favorite son. A man who’d been killed in a war that Lorne had fought, not alongside the rest of them, but on a foreign world forty-five light years away.

 
He sighed. It was looking to be a long, long day.

  #

  For the first six hours after Jin’s confrontation with Commodore Santores, she’d been unable to rest, her heart and brain working feverishly and uselessly, wondering if Lorne was indeed going to fall into Santores’s trap.

  Occasionally she was able to sit on the edge of her bed for a few minutes at a time. But she was too tense to stay there for long. Mostly she paced back and forth across the tiny holding cell, her enhanced hearing on nervous edge as she waited for the sound of arrogant Dominion footsteps in the corridor outside.

  Paul, for his part, had listened to her hurriedly whispered summary of the meeting, and then had stayed out of her way, letting her work it through the only way she could. For a couple of hours, to her guilty annoyance, he actually managed to get some sleep.

  But for those first hours the corridor outside had held only the occasional non-arrogant footsteps and murmurings of the two Cobra guards on duty. Once, a meal was delivered by a silent jailer. No one came to gloat, or threaten, or even remind them that the Dominion still cared they were in here.

  Eventually, Jin had managed to persuade herself that that was in itself good news. Had Lorne been caught in the Dominion’s scheme, surely something would have happened by now. Santores wasn’t the type to pass up the opportunity to personally bring the news that Lorne was in his hands.

  And so, for the past two hours the tension had been slowly draining away, allowing her to lie down, even doze a little.

  It was eight hours and seventeen minutes after the Marines had returned her to her cell when they finally had a real visitor. But this time it wasn’t Dominion Marines or even a gloating Santores.

  “Cobras,” Governor-General Chintawa greeted them gravely as he stepped into the cell. He gestured, and some unseen person outside closed the door behind him. “How are you holding up?”

  “We’re fine,” Paul said, “considering we’re being held without charges.” He raised his eyebrows. “Or is that by deliberate design?”

  “Of course it’s by design,” Chintawa confirmed sourly. “The minute I file specific charges, Gendreves and Santores will have something tangible they can deal with. As long as you’re nothing but vague persons-of-interest, there’s nothing either of them can get a grip on.”

  “So they’ve teamed up?” Jin asked.

  “To be honest, I’m not sure what their relationship is,” Chintawa admitted. “If there’s any relationship at all. Frankly, I’d be afraid to ask, lest it give one or both of them any ideas. So far I’ve been able to mostly outmaneuver them individually. I’m not so sure I could do so if they joined forces.”

  Jin braced herself. “What’s happening with Lorne?”

  “What do you mean?” Chintawa asked, frowning. “The last I heard, he was back on duty in DeVegas.”

  Jin and Paul exchanged glances. “Are you sure?” Paul asked.

  “I was,” Chintawa said, pulling out his comm and punching in a number. “Status check, please: Cobra Lorne Broom…yes…thank you.”

  He keyed off. “Commandant Dreysler’s office confirms he’s in DeVegas,” he said, putting the comm away. “Were you expecting him to be elsewhere?”

  “We were concerned,” Paul said. “Commodore Santores seems to have developed an unhealthy fascination with our family.”

  “I see.” Chintawa shifted his eyes to Jin. “And the reason for this fascination?”

  Jin hesitated. Should they tell Chintawa about the MindsEye? Would that help, or would it just make things worse? “You’d have to ask Santores that,” she said evasively.

  “I may do that,” Chintawa said, eyeing her another moment before turning back to Paul. “Let me rephrase: is this fascination going to make it dangerous for me to let you out, or will you be safer in here?” He sniffed. “Or should I ask Santores that one, too?”

  “Thanks for your concern, but I think we’ve had enough of the Dome’s hospitality for one day,” Paul said, standing up. “We’ll take our chances with Santores.”

  “Fine.” Chintawa gave each of them a hard look. “But let me give you a warning. I’m not happy about the Dominion being here, and I’m even less happy about some of the changes Santores has been talking about. The last thing I need is someone rocking the boat. Especially someone from the Moreau or Broom families. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Very clear,” Paul said. “Just remember that we’re not the only ones doing the rocking.”

  “I know,” Chintawa said with a scowl. “And I’ll do my best to keep Gendreves on a legal leash. All I ask is that you don’t give her any additional ammunition.”

  “We’ll try,” Jin said dryly. “Believe me.”

  “Do more than just try.” Chintawa nodded toward the door. “Come on. Let’s go to the desk and I’ll walk you through the sign-out procedure.”

  Between their own release forms and the slightly more complicated de-impoundment procedure, it was nearly an hour before they were finally back in their car, staring at the gateway leading from the car park back into the city.

  “We should call Uncle Corwin and Aunt Thena and let them know we’re all right,” Jin said into the silence.

  “Yes, we should,” Paul agreed. “And then?”

  Jin stole a look at his profile. His expression was calm enough, but she could see the determination lurking beneath the surface. “What are you thinking?” she countered.

  He was silent another moment. “I was just wondering,” he said slowly, “whether I should just march into Santores’s office and offer to go under this damn MindsEye contraption myself.”

  “Absolutely not,” Jin said firmly. “I don’t care how they spin it—the thing doesn’t sound even remotely safe.”

  “Santores wouldn’t dare hurt me,” Paul assured her. “If he even looked like snatching away one of Nissa Gendreves’s prize fish she’d be on him like a rabid spine leopard. I was mostly thinking that if I let him look into my brain, he’ll find out I didn’t see the nav display on Warrior’s ship clearly enough to do him any good.”

  “Fine; but what if you did see it?” Jin countered. “What if you can point him at Qasama? We can’t take that risk.”

  “I’m almost positive I didn’t,” Paul said. “I know it’s a gamble. But if I can persuade him we’re no use to him, maybe he’ll leave us alone.”

  “I doubt it,” Jin warned. “He strikes me as the vindictive type who’d go ahead and pull all the actionable stuff out of your brain, just for spite.”

  “I thought he promised he wouldn’t do that.”

  “He said he wouldn’t use anything they discovered to bring charges against Lorne,” Jin corrected. “That doesn’t mean he wouldn’t turn everything over to Gendreves. No, this thing could blow up in your face in any number of ways.”

  “Then so be it,” Paul said firmly. “Better me than Lorne.”

  And there it was at last. Jin gazed at him, his image going blurry as her eyes filled with tears. “It wasn’t your fault, Paul,” she said quietly, reaching over and taking his hand.

  For a moment his hand resisted, staying rigid within the circle of her fingers. Then, almost unwillingly, the skin and muscle relaxed and softened, and his fingers wrapped around hers. “Of course it was my fault,” he said, the words dark with fear and anger and hopelessness. “I should have stopped him. I should have—” His hand squeezed hers tightly. “I should have done something.”

  “There was nothing you could do,” Jin said, reaching over to enfold his hand now in both of hers. “You were trying to protect Merrick. Merrick was trying to protect you. You couldn’t both have what you wanted.”

  “I know.” Paul took a deep breath, let it out in a slow, controlled sigh. “But that just makes it all the more important for me to protect the son I have left.”

  Jin looked out through the gate at the bustling city beyond. Barely a week since the Dominion ships had arrived, and already Santores had insinuated his people into the highest
levels of Cobra Worlds politics and was talking about changes. How much longer, she wondered, before he went ahead and took over everything?

  “He wouldn’t stop with you,” she said, the words coming out with an edge that startled even herself. “Santores was highly disappointed that I didn’t give him an excuse to send me to his ship. He’s probably equally disappointed that whatever he was trying to do with Lorne has also failed.”

  “He needs to get used to disappointment,” Paul murmured.

  “He’s used to getting his own way. He’s going to keep going until he gets it here, too.”

  “So what do you propose we do?”

  Jin looked at their hands, still entwined. In unity there is strength, the old adage whispered through her mind.

  Merrick was gone. Jody was out of Santores’s reach, at least temporarily. Corwin and Thena and the rest of her extended family were of no use to the Dominion. That left only her, Paul, and Lorne.

  “He wants the three of us,” she said. “Fine. Let’s make it easy for him.”

  She felt Paul’s eyes on her. “You mean we should put all his eggs in one basket?”

  “I was thinking more of giving him a mouthful he’ll choke on,” Jin said grimly. “He needs to learn what it means to deal with Cobras.” She lifted her eyes to Paul’s. “And he definitely needs to learn what it means to take on the Broom family.”

  “Okay.” Reaching down, Paul started the car. “You want to head out now, or shall we get a good night’s sleep first?”

  “I drove through the night on Qasama,” she reminded him. “I can do it here, too.”

  “Good enough,” Paul said, pulling out of the parking space. “We’ll grab some food on the way and just hit the road.”

  He snorted. “And under the circumstances, I think we should wait to call Corwin and Thena until we reach Archway.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Merrick had worried about repercussions over the meal bars he’d stolen for the three slave children. To his relief, there weren’t any. In fact, as far as he could tell, it was possible the Trofts hadn’t even missed them.