by Timothy Zahn
"So how long will it take you to build a full-sized one?" Geoff asked. "Wait a second—hold that thought," he interrupted himself, pulling out his comm. "This could be it." He clicked it open. "Hello?"
Listening to his end of the conversation with half an ear, Jody unfastened the lid on her trap and retrieved her comm. She put it away, then pushed the bottom and sides up again, fastening the bottom with the quick-release hooks that had held it in place until it was sprung.
"You really want to do this?" Freylan asked quietly at her side.
She frowned at him. "What do you mean?"
"Caelian," he said, his dark, earnest eyes boring into her face. "I know everyone calls it a hell world. But most of them just say that just because everyone else says it. They don't really know what they're talking about. But I do. My uncle spent eight months there a few years ago, and it nearly killed him."
"You and Geoff are going," Jody reminded him. "Assuming you get permission, that is." She nodded toward Geoff and his quiet conversation.
"Yeah, but Geoff and I are crazy," Freylan said, an uncertain smile briefly touching his lips. "You aren't. So why do you want to go with us?"
Jody looked over at Geoff, who was now pacing the room the way he always did in the midst of deep comm conversations. "There are just over three thousand Cobras on Aventine," she said. "Roughly one for every four hundred people. You know how many Cobras there are on Caelian?"
Freylan huffed. "Some ungodly number, probably."
"Seven hundred," Jody told him. "That's one for every six settlers. When people say the Cobra project is too expensive and that they want to shut it down, what they really mean is that Caelian is too expensive."
"I know," Freylan said heavily. "I also know you and your family have a long history with the Cobras."
"Never mind the history," Jody said shortly. "We need the Cobras, Freylan. The Trofts aren't our friends. We trade with them, and we have good diplomatic relationships with maybe three or four of the demesnes. But even those three or four aren't really our friends. And there are hundreds of demesnes out there."
"And there's Qasama," Freylan murmured.
Jody felt her throat tighten. Qasama. There was a lot of family history tied up in that world, too. Way too much history. "And there's Qasama," she agreed. "The point is that we can't afford to stop the Cobra project. Ever." She ran her fingertips gently over the stainless steel of her trap. "That's why we need to solve the problem of Caelian. If we can find a way to finally tame that world, it'll knock a lot of the props out from under the anti-Cobra argument. Some of the Caelian Cobras could be retasked, the world could be opened up for new colonization, and we could start pushing out the boundaries on Viminal and even here on Aventine. It's not the Cobras themselves the public doesn't like, it's the feeling that the whole program's become nothing but a sinkhole for everyone's hard-earned money—"
"Hey, hey—steady," Freylan said, holding up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "We're on your side, remember?"
Jody made a face. "Right. Sorry."
"That's okay," Freylan said, a little awkwardly. "Passion is good. That's what Geoff always says, anyway. Passion is why people do stuff like this."
Jody cocked an eyebrow at him. "You mean aside from the fame and fortune parts?"
His smile this time was a lot more relaxed and genuine. "Aside from that, sure," he agreed.
Across the room Geoff gave a sudden war whoop. "We're in!" he shouted, lifting his comm in triumph. "That was Governor Uy's office. The project's been approved. We're going to Caelian!"
"That's great," Freylan said, his eyes lighting up. "Jody—we're in."
"Yes, we are," Jody agreed. "Congratulations."
And hoped that her own smile looked as genuine as theirs.
Chapter Three
Uncle Corwin had moved to his estate at the southern edge of Capitalia nearly thirty years ago, a week after his fifty-seventh birthday and less than two years after his political enemies had forced him out of his governorship. That loss had ended his political career, a life he'd led as long as Jin had been alive, and even after all these years she still couldn't think about that without feeling a twinge of guilt for her part in the whole thing.
Corwin didn't blame her, she knew. Never had, for that matter. But knowing that was only minor consolation.
The gate opened as she and Paul walked toward it. Either Corwin had set it on automatic or else someone inside was keeping close watch. "Did you ever get hold of Jody, by the way?" Jin asked as they passed the gate and started down the twinkle-lit walkway toward the dark, looming structure ahead.
"Yes, while you were showering," Paul said. "She doesn't know what this is about, either. But I do know she's been trying to talk Corwin into coming in on her side on this proposed Caelian trip of hers."
Jin grimaced. Caelian had been the third world settled by the Dominion colonists who had come here nearly a century ago, right after beachheads had been established on Aventine and Palatine. The first two worlds, despite occasional bumps along the way, had eventually become unqualified successes.
Caelian, unfortunately, hadn't.
The planet had a hundred different bitter-edged epithets among the Cobra Worlds' population, most of them variants on the words money pit, home of damn fools, or hellhole. Out of a high-water population of nearly nineteen thousand, only forty-five hundred still remained, all of them too stubborn or stupid to give up and move back to Aventine or to one of the two latest additions to the Worlds.
But though most Worlders had written off Caelian as a dead loss, not everyone had. Every year or two some group of young visionaries would surface with a new plan for dealing with the deadly plant and animal life that was so determined to choke mankind off their world. Jody's friends Geoff Boulton and Freylan Sonderby were merely the latest in that long parade of idealists. "If she thinks Uncle Corwin's going to help her visit Caelian, she's sorely underestimated his senility level," she said.
Paul shrugged. "Perhaps."
The estate's grounds were compact but well gardened, and Jin could smell the delicate scent of budding bablar trees as they walked toward the house. Some gardens of this sort included pools, fish ponds, even small waterfalls, additions Corwin hadn't bothered with.
So why then did he call it the Island?
No one in the family knew, but that hadn't kept them from speculating about it. Jin had always thought it was a reference to the ancient no man is an island aphorism, but had never been able to coax a yes or no out of her uncle. Jody's theory was that it was a reference to an old Earth classic book, while Lorne believed it to be a not-so-subtle jab at the five islands in the lake west of Capitalia and their rather snobbish inhabitants. Merrick, typically, hadn't bothered with the question, declaring that his great-uncle would tell them when he was good and ready.
Jin and Paul reached the house, to find Jody waiting for them just inside the main door. "Mom; Dad," she said in greeting. She was silhouetted against the hall light, but Jin's optical enhancers were able to pick out the tension lines in her daughter's face. "I hear you had a bad day."
"It could get worse," Jin warned her, "depending on what's happening with your project."
"I showed Geoff and Freylan my trap design today," Jody said. "They liked it."
"What about your application?"
Jody shrugged. "You know governments. These things take time."
"But Uy hasn't denied it?" Jin persisted. She'd been hoping against hope that Caelian's governor would shut down the project at his end.
"Sorry," Jody said.
"I think," Paul put in wryly, "the day's just gotten worse."
"It won't be that bad, Mom," Jody insisted. "We really do know what we're doing."
"Do you?" Jin countered. "Do you really?"
"Yes, we do," Jody said. Her voice was low and earnest, matured and reasoned.
And grown-up. Despite all her emotional expectations to the contrary, Jin couldn't ignore the fact tha
t her little girl had grown up.
"I imagine we'll be discussing it further tonight," Paul said. If he was feeling the same surge of emotion, Jin thought resentfully, he was hiding it well. "Meanwhile, you have your mother and father standing out in the cold Aventinian evening air."
"It's not that cold," Jody said, a hint of her little-girl dry humor peeking out through the adult she'd become. Nevertheless, she stepped aside out of the doorway. "Come on in—dinner should be ready soon."
"Who's cooking?" Jin asked. "Uncle Corwin, or Aunt Thena?"
"Merrick, actually," Jody said. "He said that as long as he'd called this dinner, it was his responsibility to feed all of us."
"As long as it's Merrick and not Lorne," Paul murmured.
"Trust me," Jody promised. "No one wants the day to get that bad."
When Merrick had first become a Cobra seven years ago, Jin remembered fondly, he'd sworn the whole family to secrecy about his culinary skills. Not because he'd been afraid the other Cobras would rib him about it, but because he'd been on enough field maneuvers during training to fear that he might be designated official unit cook and chained to the stove while the others dealt with the real Cobra work. So far, he'd managed to keep his secret.
The dinner conversation was as pleasant as the food. Jody, who'd always been good at taking hints, avoided any mention of Caelian, instead focusing her end of the conversation on the last few remaining details of her upcoming graduation ceremony. Lorne, after once again confirming that his parents had emerged from the Sun Center trouble mostly unscathed, shifted his part to news of the expansion provinces and the various social and business doings out in those hinterlands, peppering each story with the dry humor he shared with his younger sister.
Merrick himself, Jin noticed, was being especially quiet tonight, carefully cutting precise pieces from his cacciatore and adding little to the table talk. At the head of the table, Corwin and Thena were equally restrained.
Finally, the meal was over. "Excellent, Merrick, as always," Corwin complimented the young man as the group stacked the dishes together. "A man who can cook will always be surrounded by friends."
"Thank you, Uncle Corwin," Merrick said gravely. "Coming from someone who gets to sample Aunt Thena's cooking on a regular basis, I count such praise very highly indeed."
"Diplomatic as always," Thena said with a smile. "Do bear in mind, though, that your uncle Corwin survived on his own cooking longer than he has on mine."
"Survived being the operative word," Corwin said, reaching over to take his wife's hand.
Jin watched them, feeling another twinge of guilt. Uncle Corwin hadn't married Thena until his fall from power, and while Jin couldn't see anything but good having come from their marriage, she still couldn't help wondering if Corwin saw the life of a husband and father as something of a consolation prize.
Especially now that their son Rave was himself grown and out of his parents' house. All Corwin had left was his wife, his home, and his memories.
"So cooking's the secret, huh?" Lorne put in. "I've always thought the best way to keep friends around you was to owe everyone money."
"Whatever works for you," Merrick said equably. "Speaking of debts, I did all the cooking. That means it's up to you two to go load the dishwasher."
"That seems fair," Corwin agreed. "Go ahead—we'll wait on dessert for you."
"Not a chance," Jody said, folding her arms across her chest. "I know this trick, and we're not falling for it. Whatever you and Merrick have cooking, Lorne and I are going to be in on it."
"Jody, that's no way to talk to your great-uncle," Paul warned.
"It is when he's trying to send us to the children's table," Jody countered. "In case some of you haven't noticed, the baby of the family is twenty-one now. We're full-fledged members of this family now."
"Which isn't to say there aren't things that concern one member and not another," Jin said.
"It's all right, Jin," Corwin said. "She and Lorne can stay."
"I respectfully disagree, Uncle Corwin," Merrick said firmly. "Not because we're trying to hide anything from you," he added, looking back at his brother and sister, "but because we're trying to protect you."
"I'm sure we both appreciate the thought," Lorne said. "But as a twenty-four-year-old, I sort of resent the implication that I need protecting." He looked over at his great uncle. "As a twenty-four-year-old Cobra, I definitely resent the implication."
"Resent it all you want," Merrick said. "We're not talking about jaywalking or disturbing the peace here."
"What are we talking about?" Lorne countered.
"Treason," Merrick said flatly.
Lorne seemed to draw back in his seat. "What?" he asked, his voice suddenly subdued.
"You heard me," Merrick said. "What we're talking about tonight is borderline treason."
"Only borderline?" Jody said. "Well, that's not so bad."
Merrick turned toward her—"It's all right, Merrick," Corwin said again. "Go ahead—give your mother the letter."
For a moment Merrick hesitated. Then, with a sigh, he reached into the inner pocket of his jacket. "I was unloading Jody's azaleas at the side of the house today when a courier came to the door," he said, pulling out a long, thin envelope. "He marched up to me and said, 'Cobra Broom?' I of course said yes, and he handed me this. I'm afraid I've already opened and read it." He held out the envelope toward his mother.
"Tell her the rest," Corwin murmured.
Merrick's lips compressed briefly. "The courier," he said, "was a Troft."
Jin froze, her fingers a millimeter from the envelope. "A Troft?"
Merrick nodded. "A Tlossie, I think. Like I said, I thought it was for me, so I opened it. Three minutes later, I was on the comm to Uncle Corwin."
Jin shot a look at Corwin as she took the envelope from her son. She opened it and pulled out the single slip of paper inside.
The note was short, consisting of just two handwritten lines in precise Qasaman script:
To the Demon Warrior Jasmine Jin Moreau:
Urgent you return at once to Qasama. Crisis situation
requires your personal attention.
There was no signature.
"What is it?" Lorne asked.
"Sort of a party invitation," Jin murmured, handing the note to Paul.
"It's what?" Lorne demanded. He half stood, reaching across the table and trying to snatch the note from his father's hand.
Without even looking in his direction Paul twitched the paper out of the other's reach, his forehead wrinkling as he read the note. Lorne stayed where he was, his hand outstretched, and after a moment his father handed it across to him. "Interesting," Paul said thoughtfully as Jody leaned close to Lorne to read over his shoulder. "I wonder how he got it to the Tlossies."
"How who got it to them?" Lorne asked, frowning at the note the same way his father had. "Who's it from?"
"Daulo Sammon, I assume," Paul said, cocking his head at Jin. "That is his handwriting, isn't it?"
"Actually, I don't know," Jin said, struggling to keep her mind focused as memories three decades old came flooding back. Daulo Sammon, Obolo Nardin and his treacherous Mangus plot, the earnest but deadly young Shahni agent Miron Akim—
"What do you mean, you don't know?" Lorne asked.
With an effort, Jin pushed back the memories. "The only thing I ever saw him write was an order at the family mines," she explained. "It was written very quickly, on a pad balanced on his arm in a blustery wind. I never saw what his writing looked like when he was being careful."
"On the other hand, who else down there ever knew your full name?" Jody pointed out. "It has to be Daulo, doesn't it?"
"There were a few others who knew my name," Jin told her. "But I doubt any of them would want to see me again."
"Except maybe for revenge," Merrick said.
"Thirty-two years later?" Jin shook her head. "Highly unlikely."
"But not impossible?"
; Jin grimaced. "No."
"Let's try it from the other direction," Corwin suggested. "Any idea what the crisis situation might be that the note mentions?"
Jin snorted. "On Qasama? It could be any of a hundred things."
"Give us a couple of possibilities," Paul said.
"Well, there was a strong tension between the cities and the villages when I was there," Jin said. "Largely because the cities had mostly gotten rid of their mojos while the villages still held onto some of theirs."
"Using the birds as bodyguards?" Merrick asked.
"Partly that, and partly as added protection against the krisjaws and spine leopards," Jin said.
"Though if the plan worked, I would assume the mojos will have deserted even the villagers by now," Corwin reminded her. "And of course, once the local spine leopards all have them as symbionts, the predator attacks should also stop, making mojo bodyguards unnecessary."
"Lot of if and should in there," Lorne warned.
Corwin shrugged uncomfortably. "Life is uncertain," he conceded.
"Actually, I think the shift was already starting," Jin said. "But even if you write the mojos out of the equation it doesn't necessarily follow that the cities and villages will have started getting along."
"Witness the tension between our own cities and expansion regions," Merrick murmured.
"Exactly," Jin said. "And feelings and memories run a lot deeper on Qasama than they do here."
"What other possibilities for trouble might there be?" Paul asked.
"Like I said, it could be any number of things," Jin said. "Obolo Nardin's effort to subvert the Shahni with his Mangus Project might have had a resurgence somewhere. Some Troft demesne might be poking around Qasaman internal affairs again. Or someone might have been inspired by Nardin and be trying his own plan for revolt or subversion."
"So far, none of this sounds like a problem they'd want your help with," Lorne pointed out.
"Except maybe the Troft thing," Jody said. "The Qasamans can't know nearly as much about the ins and outs of Troft culture and politics as we do."
