by Timothy Zahn
The two guards eyed the group as they approached. One of them started to speak, and Jin notched up her audio enhancers. [These humans, why are they here?] the guard demanded.
[The two civilians inside, to them they bring disguises,] the Troft behind Jin said. [The enemy combatants we seek, perhaps these are the ones.]
The door guards' expressions went a little harder. [Yet these disguises, they bring three of them,] the spokesman pointed out.
[An additional and unknown enemy, such may lurk nearby,] the escort agreed. [Watchfulness, we will maintain it.]
[The humans, we will watch them closely,] the guard assured the escort grimly.
The Troft behind Siraj nudged the Qasaman with the muzzle of his laser. [The door, go through it.] "Go inside."
"Yes, of course," Siraj said. He reached the door, pushed it open with his forearm, and went through. Jin followed, once again lowering her enhancers.
The room beyond the door was a lounge of sorts, with computer monitors scattered among the couches and cushions to allow the doctors and staffers to keep an eye on what was happening with their patients. There were about a dozen men and women in the room, some pacing nervously, the rest sitting alone or in quietly conversing pairs. Flanking the inside of the door were another pair of watchful Troft soldiers.
And seated on a couch at the rear of the room, painfully conspicuous in their non-medical garb, were Daulo and Fadil.
Siraj nudged Jin to their right, away from the door. "I will take Daulo Sammon the coats," he said. "As the soldiers watch me, you will move behind you to the fire alarm."
"If they watch you," Jin warned, glancing casually over her shoulder at the Trofts. Out of the corner of her eye she spotted the alarm Siraj had mentioned: a small red plate set into the wall with a thumb-sized lever set into it.
"They will," Siraj assured her. "There are two civilians, yet I have three coats. They will watch closely to see what I do with the third."
"If you say so," Jin said frowning. Either Siraj was making a monumental leap of logic, or else he'd eavesdropped on the conversation outside and understood enough cattertalk to know the Trofts were already thinking in that direction. "When do you want me to set off the alarm?"
"You do not set off the alarm," Siraj said. "The alarm is activated by pushing the lever downward. You will, instead, push the lever in—it will resist, so push firmly—and once it is in you will pull it upward."
"Which will do what?"
"It will help us," Siraj said. "Go now."
Jin looked around the room, pretended to notice someone she recognized and started over toward him. Halfway there, she pretended she'd changed her mind and drifted instead to the side, coming to a halt a pace away from the wall and the fire alarm. Siraj had meanwhile crossed to Daulo and Fadil and was whispering urgently to them. From the two villagers' expressions, it was clear they had no idea who this man was and weren't particularly happy at having extra attention being drawn their way. So far, so good, Jin thought, and looked over at the two Trofts by the door.
To find that Siraj's plan had worked exactly halfway. One of the Trofts was indeed thoroughly engrossed in Siraj's inaudible conversation. Unfortunately, the other was gazing just as intently at Jin.
She shifted her attention back to Siraj. He was gazing sideways at her, his eyebrows cocked in silent question. She gave him a tiny shrug, followed by an equally microscopic tilt of her head toward the Trofts. Siraj inclined his head slightly in reply and turned back to Daulo. There was another short conversation, and this time it was Daulo who looked a question at Jin. She gave him a small nod, wondering uneasily what Siraj's new plan was and what the Trofts were thinking about all this. She was hardly an expert on alien body language, but she'd seen enough annoyed Trofts to have the unpleasant feeling that the one focused on her was looking for an excuse to shoot something.
Across the room, the quiet conversation ceased and Daulo and Fadil stood up. Siraj handed a lab coat to each of them, and the two villagers headed toward opposite rear corners of the room.
And with that, the two Trofts now had four humans they needed to keep a close eye on. Jin held her breath, waiting for her personal watchdog to shift some of his attention to one of the others. Half a second's worth of inattention, maybe less, and she would be able to get to the fire alarm without being shot.
She was still waiting for that half-second window when the door opened and the two Trofts who'd been standing guard outside strode in.
Jin grimaced. So much for that approach.
So much, too, she decided suddenly, for letting Siraj call the shots here. The Trofts were probably still a little off-balance after the brief battle upstairs, but that confusion wouldn't last long. She and the others had to get out of here before the invaders got their balance back. Focusing on each of the Trofts in turn, she set up targeting locks on their heads, starting with the one watching her. It was risky—if her watchdog decided she was making suspicious movements he could probably get off a shot before she could take him down. But if she didn't do something—
And then, Siraj raised his hands and pointed both of them at Jin. "Now!" he shouted.
Jin froze in disbelief as all four of the Trofts spun around, their lasers tracking toward her. With that single barked word, Siraj had just quadrupled the odds she was already facing. Was he trying to get her killed?
Maybe he was. Maybe that was why he'd insisted on accompanying her up here in the first place.
And then, to Jin's astonishment, all four lasers changed direction in midtrack as the Trofts turned their attention back to Siraj.
All of the Trofts, including Jin's own guard.
Jin didn't waste time wondering why they would do something so foolish. Stepping to the wall, she pushed in the lever and pulled it up.
Nothing happened.
For a fraction of a second she just stood there, staring at the alarm. She'd expected something instantly lethal or at least instantly dramatic: targeted lasers or machine guns, flash-bang grenades, or at least stun-strobe lights. But nothing.
Nothing, that is, except that her sudden movement hadn't gone unnoticed. The four Troft lasers changed direction again in mid-turn, this time tracking back toward Jin. She turned toward them, bringing up her own hands, consciously relaxing her muscles to let her nanocomputer and its programmed evasion reflexes to take over the instant it became necessary.
Her hands were halfway to firing position, and the first Troft's laser was nearly lined up on her torso, when a pair of brilliant blue flashes lanced out from Siraj's hands and blew off the side of one of the other Trofts' helmets.
Jin's fired her own lasers even as she turned to look more closely at Siraj's hands. So those slender tubes, which she'd earlier pegged as dart guns, were in fact real Cobra-style lasers.
But there was no time to consider the ramifications of that now. She turned back to her own target.
To find to her dismay that his laser was now pointed directly at her chest.
Unlike Siraj's lasers, hers hadn't even penetrated the Troft's helmet.
Reflexively, she fired again, cursing under her breath as her arms swung of their own accord to send another ineffective shot at the second Troft she'd targeted instead of the Troft she really wanted to shoot at. She threw herself to the side, canceling the rest of the targeting locks as she did so.
The Troft in front of her fired, the shot burning past her shoulder. Desperately, she flashed a new targeting lock on him, slamming to the floor just as Siraj took out another of the aliens with a second pair of shots. Wincing as the jolt of her landing drove spikes of pain through her arthritic joints, she fired her antiarmor laser, her nanocomputer wrenching her joints still further as it twisted her body around to bring her left leg to bear on the designated target. She half closed her eyes, watching the Troft swinging his own weapon toward her, wondering who would win the race.
She did, but just barely. This time, her more powerful antiarmor laser blasted with gratifying speed though t
he armor her fingertip lasers had failed to penetrate. She targeted the last remaining Troft as the first collapsed to the floor, firing again as her swinging leg continued its arc.
Her shot and Siraj's got there at the same time. The alien went down, his head effectively vaporized.
Jin rolled back to her feet, her joints still throbbing from her barely controlled fall. Siraj's hands, she noted uneasily as she straightened up, were still curled in firing positions, his face unreadable as he gazed across the room at her. "Nice job," she said as conversationally as she could into the room's sudden deathly silence. "What now?"
For a moment Siraj didn't move or speak, his hands still ready, his little fingers not quite pointed at Jin. Perhaps wondering if this was the chance he'd been waiting for to deal with this other enemy of his world. Jin stood equally motionless, her heart pounding, keeping her own thumbs away from her fingernails . . .
And then, to her relief, Siraj lowered his hands to his sides. "Check the corridor," he said, his voice brisk and businesslike as he started across the room, gesturing to Daulo and Fadil to join them. "Confirm that it's safe."
Safe? Frowning, Jin stepped to the door and cautiously pushed it open.
And felt her jaw drop. Three humans and five Trofts were visible out in the corridor, lying in crumpled heaps. "What in the—?" She broke off, throwing a stunned look at Siraj. "Did I just—?"
"They are merely asleep," Siraj assured her as he and the two Sammons joined her. "A quick-acting gas, released into every part of the hospital except the room where the system is activated."
"Nice," Jin managed, feeling a whisper of relief. Relief, and a little embarrassment that she'd automatically assumed the worst. Surely even the Qasamans wouldn't indiscriminately slaughter this many of their own people without absolute need.
"But the reprieve is only temporary," Siraj warned, sweeping his gaze around the rest of the room. "You—return to your homes, or seek shelter in those of friends. Go now. In the name of the Shahni."
The staffers glanced at one another. Then, without question or protest, they made their way calmly to the door. Siraj stepped aside, motioning Jin and the Sammons to do likewise, as the staffers filed though the doorway and disappeared in both directions down the corridor. "You realize, of course, that the Trofts outside will see them," Jin said quietly.
"And may stop them for questioning," Siraj agreed as he started across the receiving area. "They will say nothing."
"What if the Trofts insist?"
"That will take time," Siraj said. "At this point, time works to our advantage."
Even at the possible cost of their lives? With an effort, Jin kept her mouth shut. Maybe her earlier assumption about the lengths the Qasamans would go to hadn't been all that far off the mark. "Where are we going?" she asked instead.
"We follow Carsh Zoshak," Siraj said. "Daulo Sammon, you and your son stay close behind me." He hesitated, just noticeably. "You, Jin Moreau, will guard our back path."
He headed off at a brisk stride toward the stairway. Daulo threw Jin an unreadable look, then turned back and concentrated on keeping up with Siraj. Fadil, for his part, seemed intent on pretending Jin didn't exist.
The exit from the laundry room level was hidden behind a tool rack near the end of the hallway. The small landing behind the door was only dimly lit, but with her optical enhancers Jin could see there were three or four floors' worth of narrow switchback stairways leading down into the gloom. What was at the bottom of the stairs she never found out; midway down the second flight, Siraj opened a hidden door in the side wall and led the group into another dimly lit tunnel heading off at right angles to the first.
The road didn't end there, either. There was a whole warren of tunnels beneath the city, with a bewildering array of cross-tunnels, stairways, descending ramps, and occasional booby traps that Siraj carefully deactivated and then reactivated once they were past. Several times Jin considered asking where exactly they were going, but each time decided there was no point. Even if Siraj was willing to tell her, the name or location would probably be meaningless to her anyway.
The trip seemed to take forever, but according to Jin's nanocomputer clock they were in the tunnels for only seventeen minutes before Siraj opened a final door and led the way into a well-lit room whose only furnishings were a pair of Qasamans seated behind transparent body shields and armed with nasty-looking machine guns. Siraj exchanged a set of countersigns with them, then led the way past to one of three doors leading off the room.
"What is this place?" Daulo asked as they walked down another corridor.
"A refuge prepared against the onslaught of war," Siraj told him. "There are many such as this beneath the cities and larger villages. In here."
He opened one of the doors and gestured the others inside. Jin stepped through the doorway.
And came to an abrupt halt. Five other Qasamans were standing silently along the walls of the room, all of them wearing identical grim expressions above their scaled gray bodysuits.
Seated in a wooden chair in the center of the room, his hands manacled behind him, his ankles similarly fastened to the chair legs, was Merrick.
"What in the Worlds?" Jin bit out, her eyes flicking around the room. "Siraj Akim, what is the meaning of this?"
Siraj remained silent. So did the other Qasamans. "Merrick?" Jin asked, looking at her son.
"You know that old gag, Mom?" Merrick asked, his voice taut. "The one that goes, 'I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you'?" His lip twitched. "I think our hosts may be taking that seriously."
Chapter Nine
Jin looked around the room, her pulse once again pounding. The five gray-suited Qasamans were standing casually enough, with their arms hanging loosely at their sides. But all five were wearing the same laser-equipped gloves as Siraj, and all five had their fingers curled almost into firing position. All they needed to do was twist at their wrists and squeeze their fingernails, and she and Merrick would be in the center of a kill zone. "All right," she said as calmly as she could. "You've made your point."
"What point would that be, Jin Moreau?" Siraj asked.
"You didn't bring us all the way here just to kill us," Jin said. "You could have done that anywhere along the way."
"What, with you standing behind me?" Siraj countered. "That would have been difficult."
"The marching order was your choice," Jin reminded him. "You could have put me in front of you at any point. Certainly long enough to dispose of me."
Siraj's lip twitched. "We may yet do that."
"Why?" Jin asked. "What have we done against you or the Qasaman people?"
"You are a demon warrior," a new voice said from behind her.
Jin turned to see a gray-haired man enter the room through another door. His face was lined, his walk the careful gait of someone with sensitive bones. Probably somewhere between eighty and
eighty-five years old, she estimated. "Yes, my identity's been established," she said. "And you are . . . ?"
He smiled tightly. "Come now, Jin Moreau," he admonished. "Have the years been so unkind to me?"
Jin blinked. The years had, actually—the man looked to be a good thirty years older than she was, and she still couldn't reconcile his face with her memories. But his voice—"Miron Akim?" she asked.
"Of course," he said. His smile faded away. "Why else do you think you and your son are not already dead?"
Jin took a careful breath. "I received a note," she said. "I assumed—"
"Yes, I've heard of your story." The elder Akim held out his hand. "Show me."
Jin reached inside her tunic, noting the extra wariness of the gray-suited guards as she did so. "It was delivered to my home on Aventine," she said, pulling out the paper and handing it over.
Akim took the note and studied it briefly. "Convenient," he said, handing it back. "Also conveniently unsigned." His gaze hardened a little more. "Why are you here?"
"I've already told you," Jin said. "Th
e answer isn't going to change just because you keep asking."
"No, I suppose it won't." Akim eyed her thoughtfully. "My people don't trust you, Jin Moreau. My own son doesn't trust you. Why should I let you live? You or your son?"
Jin took a careful breath. His people and his son didn't trust them . . . but Akim had rather conspicuously left his own name off that list. Maybe there was still enough doubt in his mind for her to talk their way out of this. "Because you've just been invaded," she told him, "and because you need all the assets you can get. Merrick and I can be two of those assets."
"Or you could be two more of our invaders," Siraj put in.
"We just helped you rescue someone out from under the Trofts' noses," Jin reminded him. "Why would we do that if we were allied with them?"
"Perhaps in order to infiltrate this facility," Akim said, gesturing at the room around him.
"Oh, please," Jin said scornfully. "You would hardly have brought four strangers to a place you genuinely wanted kept secret. This can't be anything more important than a minor staging area."
"Perhaps you hoped we would take you deeper," Siraj said.
"Knowing how you feel about us?" Jin asked. "Now you accuse us of being not only enemies, but stupid enemies."
"Or very clever enemies," Akim said. "What would you do in our place?"
Jin studied his face. But it was giving nothing away. "I'd try to find a way to split the difference," she said. "You don't trust us, and I can't think of any way we can prove we're genuinely on your side."
She looked at Siraj. "And to be honest, I can't blame you for that attitude," she conceded. "Not after the mistakes our people have made with yours."
" 'Mistakes'?" Siraj bit out. "Is that what you call them?"
"Call them whatever you want," Jin said, turning back to Akim. "So as I say, let's split the difference. You take Merrick and me back up to street level, and you'll never have to see us again."
"Where would you go?" Akim asked. "Back to Milika with Daulo Sammon and his son?"
Jin looked at Daulo. His face was just as wooden as Akim's. "No," she said. "Not even if Milika was willing to accept us. A Cobra's greatest strength is subterfuge, and for that we need a population base large enough for us to blend in. No, our war against the Trofts will be much more effective here in Sollas."
