Timothy Zahn - Cobra 01 - Cobra

by Cobra(lit)

  "The message is self-explanatory, sir-" the boy began.

  "Yes, I can read," Jonny interrupted him. "And one more 'sir' out of you, Almo, and I'm going to tell your father on you. What I meant was, why did Challinor send you all the way out here just to invite me to a meeting? That's what these things are supposed to be for." He tapped the compact phone resting on his hip.

  "Cee-two Challinor didn't want to take any chances on word leaking out about this, sir-Jonny," Almo corrected himself hastily. "It's a private meeting, for

  Cobras only."

  Jonny studied the other's face a moment, then folded the paper and stuck it in his pocket. Whatever Challinor was trying to prove, browbeating his messenger boy wouldn't do any good. "You can give Challinor a definite 'maybe,' " he told

  Almo. "There's a spine leopard that's been poking around the edge of the forest lately. If I don't get it today, I'll have to ride guard with Chin's planter tonight."

  "Cee-two Challinor said I should emphasize the meeting was very important."

  "So's my word-and I promised Chin he could start his second seedling run by tonight." Jonny reached for his phone. "If you'd like, I can call Challinor and tell him that myself," he suggested.

  "No-that's all right," Almo said hastily. "I'll tell him. Thank you for your time." With that he took off across the field toward where his car was waiting.

  Jonny felt a smile touch his lips, but his amusement quickly faded. There weren't a lot of teenagers in this part of Aventine-the first two waves of colonists had all been childless, and two succeeding waves of families hadn't made up the deficit-and Jonny had always felt a twinge of pain for the enhanced loneliness he knew Almo and his peers must feel. The four Cobras assigned to

  Almo's town of Thanksgiving were obvious role models for the teen-aged boys, at least, and Jonny was glad Almo had found a friend in Tors Challinor. At least he used to be glad. Now, he wasn't entirely sure.

  Almo's car took off with minimal dust, and Jonny turned both his face and attention to the towering trees. He'd worry about Challinor's cloak and laser later; right now he had a spine leopard to kill. Making sure all the equipment on his belt was secured, he crossed the vegebarrier and entered the forest.

  Even after seven years on Aventine Jonny felt a sense of awe whenever he stepped under the ancient canopy of oddly shaped leaves that turned the day into a diffuse twilight. Partly it was the forest's age, he had long ago decided; but partly also it was the humbling reminder of how little mankind knew about the world it had so recently claimed as its own. The forest was teeming with plant and animal life, virtually none of which was really understood. Clicking on his vision and auditory enhancers, Jonny moved deeper into the woods, trying to watch all directions at once.

  The extra-loud snap of a branch above and behind him was his only warning, but it was enough. His nanocomputer correctly interpreted the sound as being caused by a large airborne body, and almost before Jonny's brain had registered the sound, his servos had taken over, throwing him to the side just as four sets of claws slashed through the space he'd vacated. Jonny rolled through a somersault-barely missing a gluevine-covered tree-and came up into a crouch. He got a glimpse of the spine leopard as it leaped toward him, razor-edged quills tucked tightly against its forelegs-and again his computer took over.

  Standing flatfooted in the open, the only weapons Jonny could bring to bear were his fingertip lasers; but even as it again threw him to the side his computer used them with deadly efficiency. The twin needles of light lanced out, sweeping across the alien creature's head.

  The spine leopard screamed, a full-bodied ululation that seemed to bounce off the inside of Jonny's stomach, and its spines snapped reflexively upright on its legs. The instinctive defensive move proved useless; Jonny was already beyond reach of the spine tips. Again he hit the ground, but this time he didn't roll back to his feet. Looking back over his shoulder, he saw the spine leopard struggling to get up, apparently oblivious to the black lines crisscrossing its face and to the brain damage behind them. A wound like that would have killed a human outright, but the less centralized alien metabolism wasn't as susceptible to localized destruction. The creature rose to its feet, spines still fully spread.

  And the brilliant flash of his antiarmor laser caught the spine leopard in the head... and this time the destruction was more than adequate.

  Carefully Jonny got to his feet, wincing at the fresh bruises the battle had given him. His ankle felt warmer than it should have after only a single shot from the antiarmor laser-a heat-sensitization, he'd long suspected, due largely to his overuse of the weapon during the Tyler Mansion escape.

  Even on Aventine, it seemed, he couldn't entirely escape the aftereffects of the war.

  Taking one last look around him, he pulled out his phone and punched for the operator. "Ariel," the computer's voice said.

  "Chin Reston," Jonny told it. A moment later the farmer's voice came on. "Reston here."

  "Jonny Moreau, Chin. I got your spine leopard. I hope you didn't want it stuffed-I had to burn its head off."

  "Hell with the head. Are you okay?"

  Jonny smiled. "You worry too much-you know that? I'm fine; it never laid a spine on me. If you want, I'll put a beacon on it and you can come get the pelt whenever you want."

  "Sounds good. Thanks a lot, Jonny-I really appreciate it."

  "No charge. Talk to you later." Pressing the off switch, Jonny again punched for the operator. "Kennet MacDonald," he told the computer.

  There was a moment of silence. "No answer," the operator informed him.

  Jonny frowned. Like all Cobras on Aventine, MacDonald was supposed to carry his phone with him at all times. He was probably out in the forest or somewhere equally dangerous and didn't want to be distracted. "Record a message."

  "Recording."

  "Ken, this is Jonny Moreau. Call me as soon as you get a chance-preferably before this evening."

  Switching off, Jonny returned the phone to his belt and unfastened one of the two tiny transponders from the underside of his emergency pouch. A flick of a switch set it in "operate" mode; stepping over the dead spine leopard, he dropped the device on its flank. For a moment he looked down at the creature, his eyes drawn to the foreleg spines. Aventine's biologists were unanimous in the opinion that the spines' placement and range of angles made them defensive rather than offensive weapons. The only problem was that no one had ever found any creature on the planet that a spine leopard might need such weapons to outfight. Personally, Jonny had no desire to be around when the first of that unknown species was discovered.

  Reactivating his sensory enhancers, he began working his way back out of the forest.

  MacDonald's call came in late in the afternoon, just as Jonny was looking over his pantry and trying to decide what to have for dinner.

  "Sorry about the delay," MacDonald apologized after identifying himself. "I was out in the forest near the river most of the day with my phone turned off."

  "No problem," Jonny assured him. "Spine leopard hunting?"

  "Yeah. Got one, too."

  "Likewise. Must be another migration; they don't usually find the territories we've cleared out quite this fast. We're probably going to be busy for a while."

  "Well, things were getting dull, anyway. What's on your mind?"

  Jonny hesitated. There could be a good reason why Challinor didn't want any word of his meeting going out on the airwaves. "Did you get any unusual messages today?" he asked obliquely.

  "Matter of fact, I did. You want to get together and talk about it? Wait a second-Chrys's trying to get my attention." A voice spoke unintelligibly in the background. "Chrys says you should join us for dinner in about half an hour, at her place."

  "Sorry, but I've already got my own started," Jonny lied. "Why don't I come over when I've finished eating?"

  "Okay," MacDonald said. "About seven, say? Afterward, maybe we can all go for a drive together."

  Challinor's meeting wa
s scheduled for seven-thirty. "Sounds good," Jonny agreed.

  "See you at seven."

  Replacing his phone, Jonny grabbed a package at random from the pantry and took it over to the microwave. He would have liked to have joined the others for dinner-MacDonald and Chrys Eldjarn were two of his favorite people-and if

  Chrys's father hadn't been out of town doing emergency surgery, he would have jumped at the invitation. But Chrys and MacDonald were a pretty steady couple, and they got little enough time to be alone together as it was. With only two

  Cobras to guard Ariel's four hundred sixty colonists from both Aventine's fauna and, occasionally, each other, spare time was at a premium.

  Besides which, he thought wryly, spending more time in range of Chrys's smile would only tempt him to try and steal her away from MacDonald again, and there was no point in making trouble for himself like that. Their friendship was too valuable to him to risk messing it up.

  He had a-for him-leisurely dinner and arrived at the Eldjarn's home at seven o'clock sharp. Chrys let him in, treating him to one of her dazzling smiles, and led the way to the living room, where MacDonald waited on the couch.

  "You missed a great dinner," MacDonald greeted him, waving him to a chair.

  "I'm sure you made up for my absence," Jonny said blandly. Half a head taller than Jonny and a good deal burlier, MacDonald had an ability to put food away that was known all through the district.

  "I tried. Let's see your note."

  Digging it out, Jonny handed it over. MacDonald scanned it briefly, then passed it to Chrys, who had curled up on the couch beside him. "Identical to mine," he told Jonny. "Any idea what it's all about?"

  Jonny shook his head. "The Dewdrop's been out surveying the nearest system for the past couple of months. Do you suppose they found something interesting?"

  " 'Interesting' as in 'dangerous'?" Chrys asked quietly.

  "Possibly," MacDonald told her, "especially if this news is really only for

  Cobras. But I doubt it," he said, addressing Jonny. "If this were a war council or something we should all be meeting at Capitalia, not Thanksgiving."

  "Unless they're passing the news out piecemeal, to the individual villages,"

  Jonny suggested. "But that again drops it out of the 'emergency' category.

  Incidentally, who brought you the message? Almo Pyre?"

  MacDonald nodded. "Seemed awfully formal, too. Called me 'Cee-two MacDonald' about four times."

  "Yeah, me too. Has Challinor instituted the old rank system over there, or something?"

  "Don't know-I haven't been to Thanksgiving for weeks." MacDonald glanced at his watch. "I suppose it's time to remedy that deficiency, eh? Let's go see what

  Challinor wants."

  "Come back after it's over and tell me what happened," Chrys said as they all stood up.

  "It could be late before we get back," MacDonald warned as he kissed her good-bye.

  "That's okay-Dad's coming home late, too, so I'll be up."

  "All right. Car's out back, Jonny."

  Thanksgiving was a good twenty kilometers east-northeast of Ariel along a dirt-and-vegebarrier road that was, so far, the norm in the newer areas of the human beachhead on Aventine. MacDonald drove, guiding the car skillfully around the worst of the potholes while avoiding the occasional tree branch reaching out from the thick forest on either side.

  "One of these days a spine leopard's going to jump a car from one of those overhangs and get the surprise of his life," MacDonald commented.

  Jonny chuckled. "I think they're too smart for that. Speaking of smart moves, you and Chrys to the point of setting a date yet?"

  "Umm... not really. I think we both want to make sure we're right for each other."

  "Well, in my opinion, if you don't grab her while you've got the chance you're crazy. Though I'm not sure I'd give her the same advice."

  MacDonald snorted. "Thanks a kilo. Just for that I may make you walk home."

  Challinor's house was near the outskirts of Thanksgiving, within sight of the cultivated fields surrounding the village. Two other cars were already parked there; and as they got out and headed for the house, the front door opened, revealing a slender man in full Cobra dress uniform. "Good evening, Moreau;

  MacDonald," he said coolly. "You're twenty minutes late."

  Jonny felt MacDonald stiffen beside him and hurried to get in the first word.

  "Hello, L'est," he said, gesturing to the other's outfit. "I didn't realize this was a costume party."

  Simmon L'est merely smiled thinly, a mannerism whose carefully measured condescension had always irritated Jonny. But the other's eyes showed the barb had hit its target. MacDonald must have seen that, too, and brushed silently by

  L'est without delivering the more potent blast he'd obviously been readying when

  Jonny stepped in. Breathing a bit easier, Jonny followed his friend in, L'est closing the door behind them.

  The modest-sized living room was comfortably crowded. At the far end, on a straight-back chair, sat Tors Challinor, resplendent in his own Cobra dress uniform; at his right, looking almost drab in their normal work clothes, were

  Sandy Taber and Barl DesLone, the two Cobras stationed in Greensward. Next to them, also in dress uniforms, were Hael Szintra of Oasis and Franck Patrusky of

  Thanksgiving.

  "Ah-MacDonald and Moreau," Challinor called in greeting. "Come in; your seats are right up here." He indicated the two empty chairs to his left.

  "I hope this is really important, Challinor," MacDonald growled as the two men crossed the room and sat down. "I don't know what things are like in

  Thanksgiving, but we don't have a lot of time in Ariel for playing soldier." He glanced significantly at the uniforms.

  "As it happens, your lack of spare time is one of the topics we want to discuss," Challinor said smoothly. "Tell me, does Ariel have all the Cobras it deserves? Or does Greensward, for that matter?" he added, looking at Taber and

  DesLone.

  "What do you mean, 'deserves'?" Taber asked.

  "At last count there were about ten thousand people in Caravel District and exactly seventy-two Cobras," Challinor said. "That works out to one Cobra per hundred-forty people. Any way you slice it, a town the size of Greensward ought to have three Cobras assigned to it, not two. And that goes double for Ariel."

  "Things seem reasonably calm at the moment in Ariel," MacDonald said. "We don't really need any more firepower than we've got." He looked at Taber. "How are conditions around Greensward?"

  "Firepower isn't the issue," Szintra put in before Taber could answer. "The point is that we're required to do a lot more than just guard our villages against spine leopards and falx. We have to hunt down wheat snakes, act as patrollers in domestic squabbles-and if we have any spare time left, we're supposed to help cut down trees and unload supply trucks. And we get nothing in return!"

  Jonny looked at Szintra's flushed face, then at the other three uniformed men. A cold knot was beginning to form over his dinner. "Ken, perhaps we should get back to Ariel," he said quietly to MacDonald.

  "No-please stay a while longer," Challinor spoke up hastily. "Cee-three Szintra was a bit more forceful than necessary, but stuck all alone out in Oasis he perhaps sees matters more clearly than some of the rest of us."

  "Let's assume for the present that he's right, that we don't get the respect we deserve," MacDonald said. "What solution are we discussing here?"

  "It's not simply lack of respect, or even the way we always seem to be taken for granted," Challinor said earnestly. "It's also the way the syndic's office takes forever to process the simplest requests for equipment or supplies-though they're prompt enough when it comes to picking up surplus wheat and gluevine extract when we have it. They seem to have forgotten that the whole planet isn't as comfortable as Rankin and Capitalia, that when a frontier town needs something we need it now. Add to that the mania for making lots of little frontier settlements instea
d of consolidating the territory we've got-which is why we're spread so damn thin-and you get a picture of a government that's not doing its job. To put it bluntly, we feel something has to be done about it."

  There was a long moment of silence. "What do you suggest?" DesLone asked at last. "That we send a petition to the Dominion with the next courier ship?"

  "Don't be denser than you have to, Barl," Taber growled. "They're talking about replacing Governor-General Zhu themselves."

  "Actually, our thinking is that more than the governor-general needs changing,"

  Challinor said calmly. "It's painfully clear that the centralized system that works so well once a world is established is failing miserably on Aventine. We need something more decentralized, something more responsive to the planet's needs-"