by Timothy Zahn
Jin grimaced. It sounded like they already had the outside of the plant buttoned up, with another team on its way inside to hunt her down. It was lucky for her that she had a backup plan.
Or rather, that Yates had had a backup plan.
Because there was no reason she could think of why he’d made such a point of checking the wiring behind the breaker panel. Even the lieutenant had apparently found it odd enough to go look in there himself. The best explanation was that Yates had known she was still here and had wanted her to know about that specific access panel.
She waited until the lieutenant’s footsteps faded completely away, raised her head for a quick look, then rolled off the girder and dropped as silently as possible to the floor. Crossing to the access door, she eased it open.
Yates had a plan, all right. Not only did the door give access to the heavy wiring behind the box, but it also led upward into a narrow ventilation conduit. Jin had no idea where the conduit led, but right now it didn’t matter. What she needed was a place to ride out the initial search, and this was probably the best she was going to get.
Getting a grip on the cables, she pulled herself up and in, closing the door behind her. Now if Paul and the mob gathered outside could slip away while Reivaro was distracted by the job of finding her and fixing the damage, they might actually pull this one off.
Of course, Yates himself was probably going to be in hot water for awhile. Hopefully, he had enough pull with the Dome to keep Reivaro off his back.
Three meters up from the breaker box, she found a place where she could wedge herself in place without risk of falling. Getting as comfortable as she could, she closed her eyes, concentrated on her hearing, and settled in to wait.
#
The crowd was slowly settling down, and Paul was starting to hope that the worst of the riot threat had passed, when a sudden wave of fresh uneasiness ran through the assembly.
“What we have to do is make sure we don’t overreact,” he continued his current point, watching the group closely. Their eyes were on the building entrance, he saw, a focus that was steadily changing. Someone, apparently, had left the plant and was coming up behind him. “We have to think things through, and to explore all options—”
“Such as sabotage?” Reivaro’s voice came from behind him.
Paul turned. Reivaro and three Marines stood between him and the line of Cobras, the colonel’s expression unreadable, the Marines’ faces hard-edged. Back by the door of the plant, he could see Yates glowering in the grip of two more Marines. “I’m sure your men have been listening closely,” Paul said. “I never once suggested sabotage or violence of any sort.”
“No, you didn’t,” Reivaro agreed. “But what you said or didn’t say hardly matters now. The plant has been sabotaged. And with that action, you people have left me no choice.”
He lifted a hand. “In the name of the Dominion of Man,” he called, his voice suddenly booming across the open space, “I declare the city of Archway and the region of DeVegas province to be under full martial law.”
And as the last echo of his voice faded from the air, three large air vehicles rose from concealment from behind rows of trees a kilometer away and shot across the landscape to a sudden and simultaneous halt at the edges of the crowd. There they sat, hovering on their grav lifts like monstrous metal birds of prey.
“Impressive,” Paul said, striving for calm. The aircraft bristled with weapons, all of them trained on the crowd now frozen like terrified rabbits beneath them. “The synchronization was especially nice. Good for impressing the simple natives.”
“If the evidence of force is sufficient, sometimes force itself doesn’t have to be used,” Reivaro said calmly. “Let’s hope you Cobras learn that lesson as fast as the other simple natives.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning this.” Reivaro turned to face the line of Cobras, their expressions ranging from confused to wary to fuming to calculating. “As part of that martial law,” he called, again raising his voice loudly enough for the entire assembly to hear, “all Cobras are to be immediately brought into the Dominion military, under my command locally and through the hierarchy to the ultimate authority of Commodore Rubo Santores.”
“Like hell we are,” one of the Cobras spat. “We’re under the authority of—”
“As token of your new rank and position,” Reivaro continued, gesturing to two of the Marines, “you’ll be fitted with red insignia neckbands.”
The Marines stepped to opposite ends of the line and pulled bright red neckbands from hip pouches. They reached up to fasten the bands around the two nearest Cobras—
And staggered as both were thrown a meter backward by simultaneous stiff-arm shoves. “We don’t take orders from anyone but Commandant Ishikuma,” one of the Cobras said.
“And we aren’t wearing your damn collars,” the other added scornfully. “Collars are for dogs.”
“And Dominion Marines,” the first Cobra added.
“Like I said,” the second replied.
“Commandant Ishikuma has been relieved of duty,” Reivaro said. “As to chain of command, you’ll be receiving confirmation from the Dome within the hour as to the declaration of martial law and your new status.”
“That’s fine,” Paul spoke up, trying to ease some of the tension. The anger out there was getting dangerously close to the flash point. “When we do, we’ll resume this conversation.”
“I think not,” Reivaro said, an odd edge of anticipation on his face. “By then, you’ll have scattered across the province where you’ll be difficult to track down. No, we’ll do this now.”
“Over our dead bodies,” the first Cobra.
“If necessary, yes,” Reivaro said coldly. “And I urge you not to take that as hyperbole. Dominion martial law permits summary judgment and summary execution.”
An fresh ripple of uneasiness ran through the crowd at Paul’s back. “You can’t be serious,” he said.
“We’re at war, Cobra Broom,” Reivaro said. “Treason during wartime is punishable by death.” He gestured to the Marine still facing the first Cobra, the neckband gripped his hand. “Proceed.”
“I’m warning you,” the Cobra said softly, and Paul winced as he caught the small twitch of the other’s eye that indicated he’d put a target lock on the Marine. “Don’t.”
Reivaro gestured again. “Proceed.”
The Marine stepped forward. He reached up to the Cobra’s neck, and again fell back as the Cobra gave him a second servo-powered shove. The Marine regained his balance and started forward again. The Cobra lifted a hand, fingers curled into laser firing position—
And all but burst into blue flame as a blazing flurry of laser blasts raked across his body from the Marine’s epaulets. The Cobra gave a gurgling scream and collapsed.
And as his charred body hit the ground all hell broke loose.
The neat line of Cobras disintegrated as their nanocomputers reacted to the sudden attack and sent them leaping or dodging or rolling away in all directions. A dozen laser shots flashed out, the nearest salvo part of the same programmed reaction, the rest deliberate counterattacks driven by disbelief and fury at the attack against one of their own. The Marine staggered again as the shots blew sections of his burgundy-black uniform into clouds of smoke and ash, his parrot guns and those of the other Marines once again returning fire. The battle raged on, the fury of laser shots punctuated now by shouts and screams. The first Marine fell to the ground; the Cobras’ main attack shifted to one of the others—
“Cease fire!” a bellow rose from somewhere in the crowd. “Cobras—cease fire! Damn it all, cease your damn fire!”
Reluctantly, it seemed, the firestorm trailed off. Paul turned to the frozen, horrified crowd as Ishikuma strode into view, his face red with fury and anguish and helplessness. “Reivaro, you rotten son of a—”
“They were warned,” Reivaro cut him off harshly. “Maybe now they’ll realize how serious the Dominion of Man
is taking this.” He gestured. “And they’ll see that kicking against the spurs does nothing but waste men and resources vital to our common cause.”
Paul turned, his stomach knotting. All around him, the Cobras were slowly getting to their feet, their expressions disbelieving or pained or shaken. Some of them were clutching hands or legs where Marine counterfire had turned healthy skin into reddened or blistered hideousness.
Three of their number, including the one who’d died in that first volley of fire, didn’t get up with them. From the looks of their charred and smoking bodies, they never would.
And then, as if a final macabre joke to the Cobras and the people of Archway, the first Marine, the one who’d taken the brunt of the first Cobra attack, stirred and carefully worked his way to his feet. He was in pain, certainly, with multiple burns and slash marks across his body. But he was alive.
And with that, the full scope of Reivaro’s demonstration sank into Paul’s heart and soul. Twenty-one Cobras had gone against three Dominion Marines in a head-to-head fight…and the result had been three dead Cobras and one wounded Marine.
He turned to Reivaro to find the colonel gazing back at him. “Lesson learned?” Reivaro asked quietly.
Paul took a careful breath. “Lesson learned.”
“Good,” Reivaro said, all brisk business now. “The Marines will now affix the new neckbands. I presume there will be no further trouble?”
“No,” Ishikuma said heavily.
“Good,” Reivaro said again. “The neckbands aren’t simple strips of cloth, by the way. They contain locators, so that we’ll always know where our forces are.”
“Do your Marines have similar locators?” Ishikuma asked.
“My Marines have already proved their loyalty,” Reivaro said pointedly. “Your Cobras have yet to earn any such trust. To that end, the neckbands are also designed so that they cannot be removed.” He considered. “At least, not safely.”
“Meaning?” Ishikuma asked.
“Meaning attempts to remove them will trigger the small explosive charges hidden within,” Reivaro said calmly. “I know that Cobra bones are reinforced to protect against such dangers. Sadly, Cobra throats, veins, and arteries are not.”
Paul looked at Ishikuma, bracing himself for a fresh blast of fury. But the commandant had apparently exhausted his supply. “I see,” he said, almost calmly. “So much for the lie that you want us as partners or allies. All you really want is slaves.”
“You can think of it that way if it aids your sense of dignity,” Reivaro said. “But in reality, we’re really all little more than slaves of the greater good that is the Dominion of Man. Those of us who grew up among its worlds have long since accepted our proper place in that structure. Now it’s your turn.” He nodded toward one of the dead Cobras. “I hope there’ll be no need for further lessons of this sort.”
“No,” Ishikuma said quietly. “There won’t.”
“Good,” Reivaro said. “And now, Cobra Broom, as the apparent ringleader of this mob and a likely co-conspirator in the sabotage of Yates Fabrications, I hereby place you under arrest. You’ll be transported immediately to Capitalia for questioning.”
Paul hissed out a sigh. And no doubt the majority of that questioning would take place with him under the influence of the MindsEye device.
But it would be all right. He was positive there was nothing in his memory that would give Santores any help in finding Qasama.
And it would be far better for them to try their machine on him instead of on Jin.
He flicked a glance at the factory, feeling a twinge of guilt. With all that had happened he’d completely forgotten about the trouble Jin herself was in. He had no idea whether she’d been able to get out after her sabotage, or even if she’d been able to go to ground before Reivaro’s people moved in. If she could stay clear of the Dominion forces for a while longer, she might find a way out of Archway and get someplace where she could wait out this madness.
If not, he’d probably be seeing her again all too soon.
Something touched his throat. He started, then subsided as he realized it was just one of the Marines putting on his new slave collar. Beside him, Ishikuma was standing in grim silence as another Marine fastened one around the commandant’s own neck.
They’d learned their lesson, all right. Never again, if Paul had any say in it, would Cobras make a frontal assault against Dominion men and weapons. Next time, they would fight smarter, with cunning and subtlety and strategy.
And next time, they would win.
“Cobra Broom?” the Marine said. “It’s time.”
Paul looked over to see one of the three hovering transports settle to the ground. Back on Qasama, he’d tried to protect his son Merrick by setting himself up for capture by the Trofts. Maybe this time he could protect his wife and other son.
And if the MindsEye ended up killing him, that was a price he was willing to pay.
“I’m ready,” said. “Let’s do this.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
“Coming up on the Hoibe’ryi’sarai home world,” the Dorian’s navigation officer called, his voice clear and calm on the CoNCH speakers. “Ten minutes to break-out.”
“Acknowledged,” Barrington called back from his command chair. “All CoNCH stations, run final diagnostics.”
On the wall across from him, the lower left-hand corner of each status display began to blink amber as the command crew ran their system diagnostics. Slowly, as the seconds passed, the amber lights turned green with confirmation that everything aboard the Dorian was running smoothly.
Barrington stroked his lower lip as he watched the procedure, feeling a small but persistent knot deep in his gut. Normally, this was simply a standard part of the break-out checklist, one of the hundreds of routine procedures that took place every day on a Dominion warship.
But today was different. Today the Dorian was entering the heart of a Troft demesne. And no matter what the Cobra Worlds’ relationship might be with this particular group of aliens, Dominion doctrine was that all Trofts were potential enemies and to be treated as such. Today, nothing was routine.
Because something out there was wrong. Something was very wrong.
“Sensors all show green,” Commander Garrett murmured from Barrington’s side. “Seems to me we should have collected some pings by now.”
So the Dorian’s first officer had spotted the anomaly, too. “One would think so,” Barrington agreed. “Your analysis?”
“I see two possibilities, sir,” Garrett said slowly. “The lack of pings could mean the Trofts are simply asleep at their stations. You’d never find that on the other side of the Assemblage, but it’s conceivable this side isn’t worried about intrusion enough to watch for incoming ships.”
“Possible,” Barrington said. “Your second thought?”
Garrett’s lip twitched. “That they’ve come up with a new tag system we can’t detect.”
Barrington nodded. Those were the same two scenarios he’d also come up with. And the first one was laughingly unlikely. “So why haven’t they tried to stop us?”
“A good question,” Garrett admitted. “It’s possible their system recognizes us as a human ship, and we know they’re accustomed to human ships coming in and out. But I can’t see how any decent tag system could possibly mistake the Dorian for one of the Cobra Worlds freighters. Our size alone ought to trigger a major alarm. Every web and flicker-mine this side of the system should have been activated long ago.”
“Yet still we travel.”
“Still we travel,” Garrett confirmed grimly. “Either they don’t care, or they’re trying to lure us into a trap.”
Barrington nodded heavily. The Dorian was a powerful ship of war, one of the finest in the Dominion’s fleet. But he had no illusions about their chances of taking on an entire Troft home world by themselves.
His eyes drifted to the nav display. It wasn’t too late to abort, he knew. He had simply to order a few degre
es’ worth of course change, veer clear of the star’s gravity well, and head back for Aventine. Given that Santores had all but admitted the whole mission was little more than a way to get Barrington clear while Lij Tulu did what he wanted with the Broom family, there was no reason for him to risk the Dorian and her crew this way.
“Break-out in one minute,” the nav officer called.
Barrington squared his shoulders. Unfortunately, the reasons for his orders were irrelevant. All that mattered was that the orders themselves had been explicitly and lawfully given. “Stand by for break-out,” he repeated into his all-ship mike. Briefly, he considered raising the battle preparedness level from three to two, decided that such a declaration less than a minute from space-normal would be more confusing than helpful. “All stations, hold at BatPrep Three.”
Across from his station, the large forward displays came on, ready to show whatever was out there the moment the ship left hyperspace. The nav counter ran to zero, and with a distant thud from the relays the Dorian reentered space-normal. Across CoNCH, the displays lit up, showing the edge of a distant yellow-orange star on one side and the half-lit curve of a planetary mass on the other. Barrington looked at the status display, noting with approval that the Dorian had emerged a bit over a hundred thousand kilometers from the planet, exactly as he’d ordered—
“We’re being pinged, Captain,” the sensor chief called. “Multiple pings—multiple sources—” He broke off, his mike picking up a soft but sharp intake of air.
