by Timothy Zahn
"It wasn't them, Ifrit," Zoshak said, his voice respectful but firm. "The attackers detected my communications with you and the Nest."
"That is claimed to be impossible," Siraj insisted.
"Let's figure out later how they did it," Jin said. "Right now, it's obvious you're trying to get this gentleman out of here before the Trofts find him. Merrick and I can get out of your way, or we can help you. Your choice."
Siraj snorted. "And why would you wish to help us?"
"In the name of God, Ifrit," Zoshak snapped. "We have no time for this. You have two options: kill them, or trust them." He looked at Merrick. "For myself, I trust them."
For perhaps five of Jin's accelerated heartbeats Siraj continued to stare at her. Then, to her relief, he slowly moved his thumbs away from the curled fingers and lowered his hands. "Very well," he said. "But we travel under my command."
"Absolutely," Jin assured him, feeling some of the tension drain out of her. The reprieve was only temporary—that much was obvious from his expression and tone. But at least they weren't going to have a firefight here and now. "What do you want us to do?"
Siraj gestured to Merrick. "You: help Djinni Zoshak."
Jin felt her eyebrows creeping up her forehead. Djinni, Ifrit—both names were echoes of ancient Earth Middle Eastern spirit mythos . . . and the Qasamans had always called Cobras demon warriors. Another coincidence, like the dart gun triggering?
"We might do better to lay him flat," Merrick suggested as he crossed to Zoshak's side.
"We can't," Zoshak said. "There's still residual healing fluid in his lungs, and his torso must be kept upright. You and I will form a cross-seat, our hands interlocking with each other's wrists to form a square."
"Yes, I know that one," Merrick said. "But we really don't need both of us. I can carry him by myself, which would free you up in case there was trouble."
"You will both carry him," Siraj ordered before Zoshak could answer. "We travel toward the rear stairway, at the end of the hall most distant from the lobby. You—Jin Moreau—see if the corridor is clear."
Jin nodded and turned back to the room's doorway, the skin between her shoulder blades crawling with unpleasant anticipation. If Siraj meant to kill her, now was his best chance to try it.
But nothing came poking or stabbing or burning into her back, and she reached the hallway to find it still deserted. "Clear," she called softly, looking both ways and then stepping out into the center of the passageway.
The others stepped out of the room to join her, Siraj first, then Merrick and Zoshak with the old man sitting on their intermeshed forearms, his arms draped loosely over the younger men's shoulders. The soft plastic water bottle that had been sitting on the table beside the bed, Jin saw, was now resting in the old man's lap. "Rear door, you said?" she murmured.
"Yes," Siraj said. "You have spearhead."
Spearhead? Probably their term for point, Jin decided. With a nod, she set off down the corridor, her audio enhancers searching for sounds of movement ahead.
"Where is everyone?" Merrick asked softly from behind her. "The Trofts didn't put the whole staff downstairs, did they?"
"The doctors and attendants on this floor have taken shelter in the various patient rooms," Siraj said as he came up beside her. "I ordered them there when I first arrived." He gave a short, low hiss. "If I'd known how quickly the invaders would focus on this place and the Palace, I would have risked bringing him out alone."
"So His Excellency is one of the Shahni?" Jin asked.
Siraj darted her a dark sideways look. "His identity is none of your concern," he said stiffly.
"No, of course not," Jin agreed. "My apologies."
For another two steps they traveled in silence. "I am told the other demon warrior is your son," Siraj said.
"Yes," Jin told him, wondering how he'd known that. "My eldest."
Siraj grunted and again fell silent.
They were halfway to the brightly-lit EXIT sign at the far end of the hallway when Jin's enhancers picked up the faint sound of hurrying footsteps ahead of them. "Someone's on the stairs," she warned, stepping sideways to the nearest door and trying the knob. It was locked; with a boost of strength from her wrist servos, she snapped it open. "In here," she said, swinging the door wide.
"No," Siraj said, motioning her back to the center of the corridor. "We meet them here."
"I meant that Merrick and Carsh Zoshak can go in there while you and I—"
"We meet them here," Siraj repeated tartly. "All of us together."
With a supreme effort, Jin kept her mouth shut. Didn't Siraj see that facing an enemy with half his force burdened with an invalid was a stupid thing to do? Even worse, with one of his two available Cobras burdened that way?
But she couldn't say anything. Not a woman. Not in this society.
But Zoshak could. Jin opened her mouth to suggest he do just that—
The door ahead slammed open, and five armed Trofts boiled into the corridor. They'd been closer than Jin had realized. "Stop!" the leader's translator pin barked.
Siraj motioned, and the group of humans came to a halt. "Is that all they can say?" Merrick muttered.
"What now?" Jin asked quietly as the Trofts strode toward them, sorting themselves into the by-now-familiar wedge formation.
"Follow my action," Siraj murmured back. "And do not reveal your true nature."
Jin shot him a frown. Beneath the other's cold eyes, a hint of a grim smile was tugging at the corners of his mouth.
And suddenly she understood. The old man being carried by two of their number, the whole group being caught in the middle of an open hallway—it wasn't simply stupidity or carelessness. Siraj had deliberately staged the scene in order to lower the Trofts' expectations and therefore their guard.
It was a good and subtle plan, and now that she knew about it Jin could appreciate the tactic. Nevertheless, as the Trofts approached, she took a moment to put targeting locks onto each of the aliens' foreheads behind their transparent faceplates. Whenever she next fired her fingertip lasers, her servos would move her arms and hands to make sure those targets would be the first ones hit.
There wasn't much point in looking harmless, after all, if it ended up getting you killed.
The lead Troft put a finger over his translator pin as he walked, and Jin notched up her audio enhancers. [Five humans, we have them on the eighth floor west,] she heard the murmured cattertalk over the relative thunder of the aliens' footsteps. [Weapons, none are visible.]
"Take his weight," Zoshak murmured to Merrick.
The lead Troft acknowledged something Jin couldn't hear and lowered his hand from his translator. Taking the cue, Jin also lowered her audio enhancement. "Where do you take the old human?" the Troft asked as he and his squad stopped two meters in front of Siraj.
"To a treatment room," Siraj said, pointing toward one of the doors the Trofts had just passed. "That one, right there."
The two Trofts in the rear turned to look where he was pointing. As they did so, Siraj abruptly leaped forward, grabbed the lead Troft's laser, and twisted it effortlessly out of the alien's grip. [Soldiers—!] the Troft yelped, his outburst cut off as Siraj slammed the laser's butt hard against the side of his helmet.
Jin sprinted toward her side of the wedge as the stunned Troft collapsed to the floor. The other soldiers were already in motion, two of them swinging their lasers toward Siraj, the other two lining up their weapons on Jin. Jin dodged sideways out of their line of fire, hoping to draw the muzzles far enough away from the old man that when she fired her fingertip lasers there would be no chance that any of the aliens would get off a dying shot in that direction.
Something caught the corner of her eye as it shot past over her shoulder from behind her. It was the old man's water bottle, arrowing toward the two Trofts on her side of the wedge and sending the aliens reflexively jerking back from the incoming missile.
And as they did, Siraj fired a casual-looking s
ideways burst from his captured laser that sliced the bottle open and flash-heated the water just as it splashed across the Trofts' faces.
Their faceplates protected them from any actual injury, of course. But the simple fact of having liquid splashed violently and unexpectedly in front of their eyes distracted them for a fatal half second. One of them managed to get off a shot, the burst going wild.
And then Jin was there, ripping open the first Troft's faceplate and throwing a servo-powered punch into his throat bladder. Snatching the laser from his suddenly limp grasp, she hurled it sideways it at the farther of the two Trofts on Siraj's side, hoping to take him out or at least distract him as Siraj waded into his own battle. Another pulled faceplate and punch finished off her second opponent, and she turned to help Siraj, her hands curling into laser-firing position.
Her help wasn't necessary. Jin's two Trofts had barely thudded to the floor when Siraj's pair joined them.
"My father was right, Jin Moreau," Siraj commented as he tossed his captured laser disdainfully onto the body of the nearest Troft. "You are indeed a capable fighter." Half turning, he motioned to Zoshak. "Quickly, now."
The group resumed its journey down the hallway. "I trust you're not expecting to push the innocent routine any farther," Jin warned. "You can bet there are already backup troops on the way."
"They are welcome to the exercise," Siraj said coolly as he came to a halt well short of the stairway door. "Djinni Zoshak?"
Jin blinked as Zoshak brushed past her and pulled open a halfmeter-wide panel set into the wall, a panel labeled Laundry. "You're kidding," she said.
Neither Qasaman bothered to answer. Zoshak climbed feet-first into the shaft, maneuvering himself all the way to the rear and turning to face the others, sliding down until only his head and upper chest were visible. "Ready," he said, holding out his arms.
"Mom?" Merrick asked uncertainly.
Jin peered at the shaft. It was considerably deeper, front to back, than it was wide, which left plenty of room in front of Zoshak for a second person to join him. But that didn't make the idea any less lunatic.
But by now, all other exits from the floor were undoubtedly blocked. "Go ahead," she told Merrick. "They seem to know what they're doing."
Still looking doubtful, Merrick eased the old man's legs through the opening. Siraj moved in to assist, and together they worked their burden into Zoshak's waiting arms. Gripping the old man firmly around his chest and waist, Zoshak began a rapid but clearly controlled slide downwards. "You next, Jin Moreau," Siraj said, nodding toward the shaft. "Use the pressure of your feet against the sides to control your descent." His eyes narrowed. "Do not lose control and fall."
"I won't," Jin promised as she climbed into the shaft. It felt narrower than it looked, and she sent up a quick note of thanks that she wasn't claustrophobic.
Unfortunately, she quickly discovered that her servos hadn't been designed with this sort of maneuver in mind, and that her own leg muscles weren't nearly strong enough on their own to apply the pressure needed to control her descent. Fortunately, some of her upper-body servos did work in the proper direction, and pressing her elbows and upper arms against the sides of the shaft did the trick.
She'd made it a couple of meters down when the shaft darkened as Merrick came in above her. There was a moment of soft scraping as he figured out the necessary technique, and then silence as he joined her and Zoshak in their mass slide. Another few meters, and the shaft went completely dark as Siraj brought up the rear, closing the flap behind him.
A minute later, they reached the bottom of the shaft and a bin half full of white sheets. Jin held position until Zoshak had extricated himself and the old man from the bin, then followed.
She found herself in an institutional laundry facility of the sort she'd seen a hundred times in thrillers and comedies. This was the first time she'd ever actually been in one, though, and she found her nose crinkling at the crisply intense smells pervading the place. "What now?" she asked when Merrick and Siraj had joined them.
"That is your decision," Siraj said, eyeing her coolly. "You may leave now, and we shall most likely not meet again. Or you may come with us and ensure that His Excellency arrives safely at his destination."
Jin snorted. Her and Merrick, alone in hostile territory, with an even more hostile enemy having just invaded? "Not much of a choice there, Siraj Akim," she said. "We're with you. How exactly do we get His Excellency out?"
"There is a secret exit from this level that we can use." A ghost of a smile flickered across Siraj's face. "We have been preparing for war for many years, Jin Moreau."
"Only you've been expecting the wrong opponents," Jin pointed out.
"Perhaps," Siraj said, his voice neutral. "You will again take spearhead—" he looked at Merrick "—and you will carry His Excellency." He started toward the laundry room door.
"Wait a minute," Jin said with a surge of sudden guilt. In the excitement of the past few minutes, she'd completely forgotten about Daulo and Fadil. "We first have to go get our friends."
"No," Siraj said flatly. "We must go now."
Jin braced herself. "I understand," she said. "Merrick, you go with them."
Merrick's jaw dropped. "What? Mom—"
"Help them get him to safety," she cut him off, working hard to filter her apprehension out of her voice. "I'll catch up with you later."
"Mom, this is crazy," he growled.
"You want me to just leave Daulo and Fadil to the Trofts?" Jin countered.
Merrick clamped his mouth shut. "Of course not. Fine—I'll come with you."
Jin looked at Siraj. There was a watchful look in his eye, the same look she'd seen there earlier when he'd asked who else she knew on Qasama. "No," she said. "I can get Daulo and Fadil out myself. You help Siraj Akim and Carsh Zoshak."
"But—"
"They're our allies now," Jin said firmly. "This is war, Merrick. Follow your orders."
He took a deep breath. "Where do we meet?"
"Two blocks south of the gate where we came in," she said. "Show yourself for two minutes at fifteen and forty after each hour until we make contact."
He nodded, still clearly unhappy with the arrangement but knowing it was useless to argue further. "Good luck," he said.
"God be with you," Zoshak added.
"Thank you." Jin nodded to Siraj. "And with you." She turned toward the door.
"Wait," Siraj said; and to Jin's surprise he stepped to her side. "I will accompany you."
"I appreciate your offer, Siraj Akim," Jin said, frowning at him. "But I thought we just decided it would be safer if His Excellency had a three-man escort."
"Djinni Zoshak knows the route," Siraj said. "He and your son can follow it without significant danger." He smiled humorlessly. "Allow me to put it more bluntly: I trust them with His Excellency more than I trust you alone in Sollas."
Jin suppressed a grimace. So much for being allies. "As you wish," she said. "Merrick, I'll see you later."
The hallway outside the laundry room was deserted. Zoshak turned to the right; with a final nod at his mother, Merrick followed, the old man balanced across his forearms. "Stairs are this way," Siraj said, pointing to the left.
"Just a second," Jin said as a rack of freshly washed white medical coats caught her eye. "A little camouflage might not be a bad idea."
They each took a coat and slipped it on. "You might want to take off those gloves, too," Jin added. "They don't exactly look hospital-issue."
"This will do," Siraj said, taking three more coats and folding them into a bundle that would hide his hands. "Take spearhead."
Jin's enhanced hearing was picking up sounds of hurrying feet and rapid cattertalk well before she and Siraj reached the top of the stairs. It was thus no surprise when she stepped out into the corridor to find it full of Trofts. Two of them stopped abruptly at the sight of the humans, leveling their lasers as one of them moved his beak in inaudible cattertalk. "What are you doing her
e?" the Qasaman translation came.
"Don't shoot," Siraj gasped, his eyes wide, his face taut with astonishment and fear. Whatever else the man might be, he was a competent actor. "My name is Rajeem Tommarno. Lanara Summel and I are laboratory technicians. We were asked to bring some spare coats to the doctor's station on this floor."
"Why?" the Troft asked.
"I don't know," Siraj said. "Three coats—that was all they said."
For a moment the Troft eyed him. Then, taking one hand from his laser, he gestured Siraj over. Siraj hesitated, then stepped gingerly up to him and held out his bundle for inspection. The Troft pawed systematically through the coats, clearly searching for anything that might be hidden inside the folds of cloth. Finding nothing, he stepped back, shifting his laser back into a two-handed grip "This soldier will take you," he said. "You will stay there until other notice is given."
"Yes, of course," Siraj assured him, backing hastily away. The other Troft took a step down the corridor and paused expectantly. "Yes, of course," Siraj said again, and started off. Jin joined him, the Troft soldier falling into step a cautious couple of paces behind them.
"They seem upset," Siraj murmured to Jin.
Jin grimaced. Twenty Trofts in this corridor alone, plus who knew how many dozens more elsewhere in the hospital. "Having their soldiers beaten into the sand does that to military types," she murmured back. "I guess I should have insisted you get out with the others while you could. This isn't going to be easy."
"It may turn out to be not quite the challenge you believe," Siraj said calmly. "In here."
He led the way under an archway into what appeared to be a patient receiving and processing area. The alcove was deserted except for a pair of Trofts flanking a door at the rear of the area. Jin eyed the various desks and computer stations as they maneuvered their way through, noting that the chairs were all facing different directions, without a single one being tucked neatly beneath its desk. When everyone had left, they'd left in a hurry.
"Go to the door in the rear," the Troft behind them ordered.
