by Timothy Zahn
"We suffered a serious setback today," Akim began, his eyes touching each of their faces in turn. "More importantly, many Qasaman lives were lost." He gestured toward Zoshak. "Djinni Zoshak was the only survivor not currently undergoing medical treatment. He'll describe what he saw and experienced from the ground."
Jin listened silently as Zoshak related the attack on the Troft sentry ship and its aftermath. "Have any of you any questions?" Akim asked when he had finished.
Jin looked at Merrick. He looked back and gave her a small shake of his head. "I have one, then," Akim continued. "The acid Djinni Zoshak and the others used should have quickly destroyed or at least seriously damaged any alloy of the sort the invaders are known to use in their ships. Do you, Jasmine Moreau or Merrick Moreau, have any idea why it didn't do so?"
With an effort, Jin dragged her mind back from images of carnage. "Your statement implies you've examined Troft ship construction," she said. "May I ask when and where you did this?"
"That information is classified," Khatir put in.
"Over the years we've had the opportunity to take spectroscopic samplings from four Troft trading ships," Akim said, ignoring Khatir's comment. "The alloys were all very much of a kind, with only slight variations in the percentages of the admixed metals."
Jin looked at Merrick. "Any ideas?" she invited.
He shrugged. "Those were probably local Troft traders," he pointed out. "This bunch seem to be from some other demesnes. I suppose they could use entirely different hull materials."
"Maybe," Jin said doubtfully. "But unless my high-school physics has been completely outdated, hullmetal is pretty much basically hullmetal. You need certain characteristics for the hyperdrive to haul the whole ship along with it instead of just blasting its way through the bulkheads and taking off on its own."
"Unless the Trofts have come up with a new alloy that also works," Merrick said. "Neither of us is exactly an authority on these things." He turned to Zoshak. "Did the acid do anything to the weapons? Slow them down, set the barrels drooping—anything?"
"Not that I could see from the ground," Zoshak said grimly. "They were certainly functional enough to kill our soldiers and Djinn."
"With lasers," Akim said suddenly.
Jin looked at him. "What?"
"The invaders fired at our soldiers with lasers," Akim said slowly, his eyes on Zoshak but his gaze focused somewhere more distant. "But I don't believe they ever fired their missiles. The small antipersonnel missiles, yes, but not the larger ones from the clusters. Any of the clusters."
"Perhaps they saw no need to spend them," Khatir suggested.
"No," Zoshak said, a sudden new edge to his voice. "I remember a specific instance, when a machine gunner was firing at the weapons cluster. A missile would have made quick work of the gunner, possibly bringing down the entire building and reducing all resistance from that direction. But instead the invaders fired a barrage of laser shots until he was silenced."
He looked at Merrick. "And yet the launchers were tracking. I remember seeing them swinging back and forth as if looking for targets."
"Maybe they wanted to limit the amount of destruction they were causing," Jin suggested, a bit hesitantly.
"That's not one of their concerns," Akim said firmly.
"He's right," Merrick seconded. "I saw some of what they did during Plan Saikah. They might not be ready to nuke Qasama back to the stone age, but you attack them and they'll fight just back as hard as anyone else." He frowned. "Though come to think of it, they didn't use missiles against Narayan and me, either, when we were rescuing Shahni Haafiz's family."
"Because the missile launchers on that sentry ship were occupied elsewhere," Akim said. "You were perhaps unaware that other forces were attempting to distract the invaders so that your rescue could succeed."
Merrick winced. "Oh," he said. "You're right. I didn't see that."
"The question remains as to why the missiles weren't used this evening," Zoshak said. "Could the acid have done some damage, but not enough for us to notice?"
"But if the lasers worked—" Merrick broke off. "Do those weapons clusters retract?"
"You mean into the ship?" Akim shook his head. "No, I don't believe so. There's no place for them to retract into, and the pylons seem permanently attached."
Merrick grunted thoughtfully. "Did you pick up the Troft ships on radar as they were coming in toward Sollas?"
"We don't normally use active sensor equipment," Akim said, studying Merrick closely. "Such techniques run the risk of betraying the observer's location."
"That they do," Merrick agreed. He turned a tight smile on his mother. "But the Trofts wouldn't have known that. Especially not Trofts from this far out of town."
And suddenly Jin saw where he was going. "The ships are sensor-coated," she breathed.
"Bingo." Merrick turned back to Akim. "She means there must be some kind of coating on the hullmetal that deflects or absorbs radar signals," he explained. "Something thin that wouldn't interfere with hyperspace travel, but would help protect them from unfriendly eyes while they were here."
"Is this a technology your own warships use?" Khatir asked.
"We don't have warships," Merrick told him. "And our handful of transports want to be visible to radar when they're coming in for a landing. The point is, the coating is what the acid attacked, not the alloy you were expecting."
"And how is it that this material is impervious to acid?" Zoshak asked, sounding confused.
"Oh, I'm sure it's not," Merrick said. "But Miron Akim implied the acid you used was specially tailored for hullmetal. Regardless, whatever punishment the acid did was absorbed by the coating, leaving the hullmetal itself mostly undamaged."
" 'Mostly'?" Khatir asked.
"Yes," Akim said, his voice suddenly thoughtful. "Because the interior of the missile tubes wouldn't have been treated with that coating. Enough acid must have penetrated into those areas to render them unsafe to use."
"Then we have our solution," Zoshak said, a growing excitement in his voice. "We mix a two-stage acid, the first to eliminate the coating, the second to destroy the metal itself."
"And how exactly do you propose we create this new acid?" Khatir asked with exaggerated patience. "Shall we ask the invaders for the chemical parameters of their radar-absorption material?"
Zoshak seemed to deflate. "Oh," he said in a more subdued voice. He looked at Merrick. "Unless you know something about this material?" he asked hopefully.
"Sorry," Merrick said. "But we may not have to be that clever. Whatever the stuff is, it's not likely to be able to absorb radar and also hold up to intense laser fire." He looked at Akim. "In fact, I'd bet that a Cobra antiarmor laser could easily take it out."
One of Akim's eyebrows twitched. "Are you volunteering to participate in the next attack?"
"A moment," Khatir spoke up. "As designated Djinn commander of the next assault, I wish to state that I do not want Merrick Moreau along. We have lasers of our own, which we're quite capable of using."
"It would be a foolish warrior indeed who would turn down expert assistance out of pride," Merrick countered.
"I do not turn down assistance out of pride," Khatir snapped, glaring at Merrick. "Take offense as you choose, but the fact is that I do not trust you."
"Yet I've proven my willingness to work for your freedom against the invaders," Merrick reminded him. "And I've proved my capability, as well." He looked at Akim. "Shahni Haafiz suggested I need to find a way to prove my trustworthiness. I submit that helping Ifrit Khatir and his men take out a Troft sentry ship is as good a way of doing that as any."
Jin frowned at him. She hadn't heard anything about any Shahni demands. "When did you speak to the Shahni?" she asked Merrick.
"It was an informal little meeting," Merrick said, a flick of his eyes warning her to drop it. "Miron Akim?"
"It may be possible," Akim said, his eyes shifting back and forth between Jin and Merrick. "I'll submit y
our proposal to the Shahni."
He paused, shot a look at Khatir, then turned back to Merrick. "In the meantime, we now have a direction for our new attack plan," he continued. "Thank you all for your time and insights."
"Do you have a planned timing yet for the attack?" Merrick asked.
"Certainly not before tomorrow night," Akim said. "Possibly not until a day after that. I want Djinni Zoshak and the other survivors from his squad to join with Ifrit Khatir's squads, and their medical treatment and recovery is not yet complete."
"What do you want us to do until then?" Merrick asked.
A faint smile twitched at the corners of Akim's mouth. "For the next few hours, at least, you should probably sleep. You've been assigned a bed in Djinni Zoshak's barracks. He'll show you there."
Jin braced herself. "Before he goes," she spoke up, "I wonder if I might have a little time alone with him."
For a moment, it looked to her like Akim was going to say no. But then he bowed his head. "Of course," he said. "You may use this room if you'd like. I'll leave a soldier outside to show him to his quarters." He smiled faintly. "And another to guide you to your new hospital room, as well," he added. "Ifrit Khatir, you'll come with me."
"As you wish, Marid Akim," Khatir said. Sending one last glower at Merrick, he rose and followed Akim out of the room.
"It's good to see you again, Jasmine Moreau," Zoshak said, smiling uncertainly at Jin as he also stood up. "Merrick Moreau, I'll see you later." With a nod at each of them, he headed out.
Merrick turned to Jin. "You have a hospital room?" he asked.
Jin took a deep breath. This was not going to be easy. "I've had some tests done, Merrick . . . "
It was nearly two hours later when Merrick finally arrived at the bunk the soldier pointed out to him.
It felt more like it had been two years.
He was too weary to bother undressing farther than just fumbling off his shoes before curling up on the hard mattress, his mind a swirl of anger, fear, and a horrible, horrible grief. A parent, he'd heard someone say long ago, shouldn't have to bury his or her children.
Neither should a twenty-seven-year-old son have to bury his mother.
And it would be his responsibility to do that, he knew. His responsibility alone. They were trapped on Qasama, with no hope of getting back to Aventine before the end.
Which meant his mother wouldn't have a chance to say a proper good-bye to Lorne or Jody. Or even to her husband.
Merrick closed his eyes against the tears welling up and spilling out onto the pillow. It's not fair! he screamed silently at the universe. Not her. Not now.
But the universe didn't care. Or rather, the universe had its own unbending laws to adhere to. Thirty-two years ago Jasmine Moreau had made the choice to follow in her family's footsteps, knowing full well what the cost would be. Now, the price had come due.
Merrick pressed his face against the pillow, feeling his tears soaking the case and spreading out to chill his cheeks and forehead. Had she really, truly understood the full consequences of that decision? For that matter, did any of those who chose to become Cobras really understand? Could any normal, healthy teenager or twenty-something genuinely comprehend their own death?
But ultimately, willingness or ignorance didn't matter. All that mattered was that Merrick was going to lose his mother. And farther down the road, he himself would lose half of his own life's potential span.
Or even more. He was, after all, in the middle of a war.
And the most hateful and painful irony of it all was that the people for whom they were making this sacrifice didn't even appreciate it. The people of the Cobra Worlds watched the Cobras' deaths with indifference or resentment. The Qasamans would watch with distrust and hatred.
"Are you all right?" a whisper came from Merrick's side.
With an effort, Merrick forced back the tears. This wasn't Zoshak's concern. "Sorry," he whispered back, striving to keep the emotion out of his voice. "Sinus trouble. I didn't mean to wake you."
Zoshak was silent long enough that Merrick thought he'd fallen asleep again. "I've cried myself, you know," he said quietly. "There's no shame in being afraid."
A flash of anger shot through Merrick. "Is that what you think?" he bit back. "You think I'm a coward?"
"I didn't say you were a coward," Zoshak said. "Do you wish to talk? We can go to one of the briefing rooms if you want privacy."
Merrick sighed, ashamed of his burst of anger. Zoshak was only trying to help. "There's nothing to talk about," he said. "Maybe later when . . . never mind."
"Never mind what?" Zoshak persisted. "We're comrades in war, Merrick Moreau. I'd like to think that we're also on the path to becoming friends. Whatever it is you need or want, please tell me."
Merrick shook his head. This was going to sound so stupid. "I was just going to say that I don't know anything about Qasaman burial customs," he said. "Maybe you'd be willing to help me when the time comes."
There was a sound of shifting sheets, and in the darkness Merrick saw Zoshak sit up. "What's happened?" the Djinni asked, his voice suddenly tight.
Merrick closed his eyes. It wasn't fair to share this burden with Zoshak, he knew. But Zoshak had asked.
And to be honest, Merrick didn't want to have to face this alone. With the rest of the Moreaus light-years away, Zoshak was the closest thing to family or friend that Merrick was likely to find. "My mother's dying," he said quietly. "Miron Akim says she has no more than two or three months to live."
"God in heaven," Zoshak breathed. "What is it? What's wrong with her?"
"Cancer," Merrick said. "A brain tumor. Maybe some side-effect of our Cobra implants—God knows there are enough of them."
"A brain tumor," Zoshak repeated. Even in a whisper his voice suddenly sounded odd. "And it's inoperable?"
Merrick swallowed hard. "Miron Akim said the doctors would be studying the possibilities. But I know the doctors on Aventine have a lousy success rate with tumors like that. I can't imagine your doctors just casually go in and cut them out, either."
"Why not?" Zoshak asked, still in that same odd tone. "They do."
Merrick stared across the darkness at the vague shape that was Zoshak. "What?" he asked carefully.
"Qasaman doctors routinely remove brain tumors from cancer victims," Zoshak said. "Did Miron Akim say anything about this one that would make it inoperable?"
Merrick blinked at the last tears still leaking from his eyes, reflexively fighting against this sudden new hope. No—it was too easy. Zoshak had to be mistaken. Surely Akim wouldn't have left such a sense of doom hanging over his mother's head otherwise. Surely he would have given her hope . . .
"Merrick Moreau?" Zoshak asked, his voice suddenly a little uncertain. "Did Miron Akim say anything about your mother's tumor?"
"No," Merrick said, once again struggling to keep the emotion out of his voice. Only this time the emotion wasn't grief. This time, it was pure, white-hot rage.
Because now he knew what was going on.
The bastards. The stinking, rotten, ice-hearted bastards.
"I need to speak to Miron Akim right away," he said as calmly as he could. "Do you have any idea where he might be?"
"At this hour? I would assume he's asleep in his quarters."
"I don't think that guy ever sleeps," Merrick said, trying to think. If he were a ice-hearted, stinking bastard, where would he go? "Are there any tactical or strategy-planning rooms nearby?"
"Not that I know of," Zoshak said.
"What about a high-level conference room?" Merrick asked, his mind flashing back to yesterday's confrontation with Shahni Haafiz and his two cohorts. "The one they took me to wasn't too far from the recovery ward I was in."
"Yes, I think I know the one," Zoshak said. "What's going on?"
"Miron Akim's betrayed me," Merrick said bluntly. "Or at least, I see it as a betrayal. Maybe you wouldn't."
For a long minute Zoshak was silent. "Let's find out,"
he said at last. "Give me a moment to get dressed."
There were more people moving about the subcity than had been in evidence the previous night, Merrick noted as Zoshak led the way through the maze. But fewer of them were civilians, and more of them were grim-faced soldiers.
Briefly, he wondered if the Trofts had managed another breakthrough like the one he'd heard about from earlier that evening. But even with his audio enhancers at full strength he could hear no sounds of gunfire. The soldiers were probably there to make sure the Trofts didn't make it deeper into the Qasamans' refuge.
Ten minutes later, they arrived at a door flanked by two soldiers standing at parade-ground attention. "Looks promising," Merrick said. "But then, all these doors look alike."
"By deliberate design, of course," Zoshak murmured back. "It doesn't look like they want company, though."
"We don't always get what we want," Merrick said. "Thank you for your assistance, Carsh Zoshak. You'd better head back to the barracks. After tonight you won't want to be too closely associated with me."
"Yet if I leave now, how will I ever know whether I consider Miron Akim's actions to be betrayal?" Zoshak asked calmly. "Besides, without me you won't be able to get in." Out of the corner of his eye Merrick, saw the other flash him a wry look. "Without harming someone, I mean. Follow me."
He picked up his pace, moving a couple of steps out in front of Merrick. "Greetings, warriors of Qasama," he said formally as they approached the guarded door. "We have urgent business with those within. Step aside, and allow us to pass."
Merrick saw the soldiers' eyes flick down to Zoshak's gray Djinn combat suit, then to Merrick as he trailed behind, then back to Zoshak. "I'm sorry, Djinni," one of them said in the same formal tone. "Shahni Haafiz gave word they were not to be disturbed."
Merrick felt his throat tighten. Haafiz. Why was he not surprised?
"We have important business," Zoshak insisted, not slowing as he continued toward them. "Stand aside."
"We have orders," the soldier repeated, his hand getting a grip on his shoulder-slung rifle.
