by Timothy Zahn
" 'Nuisance' is hardly a word I'd apply to Caelian, Governor," Pyre murmured.
"True." Something in her tone made him glance over, and he found her gazing tight-lipped into the forest. "Well . . . maybe there's something we can do about it."
"About all we could do about Caelian is abandon it," he retorted.
"That's exactly what I had in mind," she nodded. "Tell me, would you be available for some consultation before the Council meeting the day after tomorrow? I need some expert advice from an experienced Cobra team leader."
"I suppose so," he said reluctantly. "But only if we're finished completely out here."
"Fine," she agreed. "I think you'll find my proposal very interesting."
I doubt it, he told himself morosely, turning his attention back to the forest. Another political mind with another political solution. Once—just once—I'd like to hear something else. Anything else. Unbidden, the face of Tors Challinor rose before him: Challinor, who had tried years ago to take military control of Aventine. Well, all right, he told the memory with a shudder. I'd like almost anything else.
Chapter 4
"This meeting is officially come to order," Governor-General Stiggur announced, bringing his hand down in a dramatic gesture to start the sealed recorder.
Somehow, Corwin thought, the whole thing lost a lot of effect when translated to a room the size of a large office and an audience of six. "I've called you here," Stiggur continued, "to discuss the issue raised at the Council meeting two weeks ago: namely, whether to undertake the job the Tlos demesne has offered us."
Corwin glanced surreptitiously around the table at the five governors, feeling as he never had at Council meetings the sheer weight of political authority assembled around him. An oppressive, almost suffocating presence—
Until Governor Lizabet Telek spoke up and broke the bubble. "I realize, Brom, that you're speaking for posterity here," she said to Stiggur, "but can we try to do without the heavy historical phrasings?"
Stiggur tried to glare at her, but his heart clearly wasn't in it. None of them had come to Aventine all those years ago with any political aspirations, and while they'd stepped into these positions with reasonable success, they were all still non-politicians beneath the trappings. "All right—point taken," Stiggur sighed. "Fine. So who's got anything to report?"
"I'd like to know first of all where Governor Emeritus Moreau is," Caelian's Governor Howie Vartanson spoke up. "It seems to me this issue should take priority over therapy sessions or whatever."
"My father's in the hospital at the moment," Corwin said, resisting the urge to say something nasty about the other's unthinking callousness. He knew Jonny was a first-generation Cobra, after all. "Immune system trouble, the doctors think."
"How serious is it?" Stiggur asked, frowning.
"Apparently not very. It came on rather suddenly last night, though."
"You should have let someone know," Jor Hemner said, one frail hand playing restlessly with his wispy beard. "We could have postponed this meeting."
"Not if we want to have a recommendation for the full Council meeting this afternoon," Corwin said, glancing at Hemner before returning his gaze to Stiggur. "I know my father's thoughts on this matter, sir, and have his authority to act for him. I presume you'll accept my council proxy in this session?"
"Well, the strict legality—"
"Oh, for heaven's sake, Brom, let him sit in and be done with it," Telek put in. "We've got a lot of ground to cover this morning, and I want to get to it."
"Fine." Stiggur raised his eyebrows at the others. "Any objections? All right. Anyone managed to find out anything from the Trofts about this Qasama?"
Olor Roi of Palatine cleared his throat. "I tried playing the old independent-planets routine on Speaker One, but I think it's starting to wear thin. They're finally tumbling to the fact that we're a political unit even though we can all make our own trade agreements. Still, I think he was being honest when he said he'd already given us all he had."
"Maybe he was just holding out in hopes we'd outbid you," suggested Dylan Fairleigh, the third Aventine governor. It was a rather naive comment, Corwin thought, betraying the lack of experience with Troft trade that almost automatically came with the other's Far West Region jurisdiction.
Vartanson, predictably, didn't bother to take that into account. "Don't be ridiculous," he snorted. "Trofts don't hold out without making it known that they have something for sale. Where've you been the past 14 years, anyway?"
Fairleigh's forehead darkened, but before he could speak Telek cut in. "Okay—so it's established the Tlossies haven't got anything. Next step is obviously to get to someone who does. I see two choices: the Baliu demesne or Qasama itself."
"Just a second," Corwin spoke up. "Isn't the next step to see whether we're going to need this information?"
Telek frowned at him. "Of course we need it. How else can we make a rational decision?"
"The most rational decision would be to give the Tlossies a simple no sale right now," Corwin answered. "If we do—"
"Since when is hiding from reality a rational decision?" Telek interrupted tartly.
"Saying no now is a statement of principle," Corwin told her, feeling sweat break out on his forehead. Jonny had warned him this view was unlikely to be well received, but Corwin hadn't been prepared for so strong a negative reaction. "It says we're not interested in becoming mercenaries for—"
"What about our own interests?" Vartanson put in. "If Qasama is a threat to the Trofts it's probably a threat to us, too."
"Yes, but . . ." Corwin stopped as words and logic suddenly tangled into a knotted mess. Relax, he ordered himself. No one here's anyone to be afraid of.
But even as he fought his sudden shyness Stiggur came to his rescue. "I think the point Corwin's trying to make is that we can still send expeditions to Qasama or wherever once we've turned down the Baliu demesne's deal," he said. "At that point we're not constrained by what the Trofts want done, but are free to take action as we see fit."
"Sounds very noble," Telek nodded. "Unfortunately, it runs very quickly into one important practical detail. Namely, who pays for this if the Trofts don't?"
Fairleigh shifted in his seat. "I was under the impression the Trofts were offering only those five planets, not payment of costs too."
"No deal's been officially struck—we could demand costs as part of the package," Roi pointed out thoughtfully. "But it would still take a lot of Cobras out of circulation for up to several years. How fast can the academy replace them?"
"Surgery and training together take three months," Corwin spoke up, feeling better on balance. "Candidate screening adds another two weeks."
"But the whole process can be shrunk to less than seven weeks," Telek said, brandishing a magcard for a moment before dropping it into her reader. "In the past few days I've spoken with two authorities on Cobra matters: Cally Halloran, who was Jonny's old teammate in the Troft War; and Almo Pyre, currently head of Cobra operations in Syzra District. Together they've provided the data necessary for a cost analysis of both the initial scouting expedition and the three most likely types of military operation."
Corwin stared at the figures that appeared on his display, the two names she'd dropped so casually into the discussion bouncing like unexploded grenades around his numbed brain. Cally Halloran—one of his father's oldest and most trusted friends; and Almo Pyre—a Moreau family friend for as long as Corwin could remember. Sneaking a glance over his screen, he found Telek's calm eyes on him . . . and suddenly he realized what she was trying to do.
By choosing Jonny's friends as her experts, she hoped to stifle any disagreement the only Cobra in this inner circle might have had with her numbers . . . and as he began studying those numbers he saw the conclusion they inevitably led to.
For even the smallest of the projected military actions the costs were simply staggering. Halloran and Pyre had estimated a minimum of nine hundred Cobras—a full third of th
e three Worlds' current contingent—on or near Qasama for six to twelve months. Equipment, transport, supply, replacement of casualties—it was far more than the Worlds could hope to scrape together from their modest economies. The abrupt loss of that many Cobras alone would bring to a dead halt all territorial expansion on Aventine and Palatine; on Caelian it could easily precipitate the final destruction or abandonment of that beleaguered colony.
Fairleigh broke the silence first. "We'd better hope the Qasamans aren't too immediate a threat," he muttered. "Nine hundred to three thousand Cobras. How long would it take to replace—? Oh, there it is."
Corwin found the line on his own display. "That assumes an unlimited supply of qualified candidates," he said.
"Well, if that pool doesn't exist—or can't be generated—we're in serious trouble already," Roi growled. "Our safety from the Trofts themselves depends on a healthy respect for Cobra fighting skills. If they thought our paltry twenty-eight hundred were all they'd ever have to deal with . . ." He shook his head.
"All the more reason to show them how easily expandable the Cobra program is," Telek argued. "We can do it—especially with the Trofts paying for the demonstration."
The discussion raged on for a half hour more, but Corwin could see the battle was lost. Of the six others in the room, only Hemner and Roi seemed at all willing to consider Jonny's position. If neither of them switched sides, Corwin's double vote would deadlock the issue at four to four, which would mean throwing it to the full Council without any official recommendation. The Council's handling of matters even with a recommendation was chancy enough; without one, the results were impossible for anyone to predict.
And as the probability of victory slipped ever closer to zero, Corwin realized that, for the first time since obtaining his father's proxy, he was going to have to make a deal on his own initiative. A deal he wasn't at all certain Jonny would approve of. . . .
He waited until the last minute, hoping against the odds; but as the governor-general called for a vote he raised his hand. "I'd like to ask for a short break before we go any further," he said. "It seems to me some private thought or discussion might be useful before we commit our votes to the record."
Stiggur's eyebrows lifted slightly, but he nodded without hesitation. "All right. We'll meet back here in 20 minutes."
The general exodus was quiet—apparently the others felt in need of a break, as well—and a minute or two later Corwin was sitting in his father's Dominion Building office. For a long moment he stared at the phone on the desk, wondering if he should discuss this with anyone before he went ahead and did it. But his father would still be in the depths of biochemical surgery, and he could guess what his mother would say. Theron Yutu, across town in Jonny's main office? No. The twins—he ought to discuss it with them. But Justin was incommunicado in the surgery wing of the Cobra Academy, and to tell only Joshua would be unfair . . . and Corwin realized he was stalling. Taking a deep breath, he got up from his father's chair and headed down the hall to Governor Telek's office.
If she was surprised to see him, it didn't show. "Corwin," she nodded, closing the door behind him and ushering him to a seat. "Nice dilemma we have here, isn't it? What can I do for you?"
Corwin waited until she was seated again at her desk before speaking. "How do you see the vote?" he asked bluntly.
Again, she showed no surprise. "Myself, Brom, Dylan, and Howie for; you, Jor, and Olor against. Deadlock. You come here to try and change my mind?"
He shook his head. "You knew my father would be against the whole thing, didn't you? That's why you dragged Cally and Almo into it."
"Your father was one of the strongest opponents of the Cobra Academy when it was set up some twenty-five years ago," she reminded him. "It wasn't hard to guess he'd be against any proposal that would increase the number of Cobras."
Which made Jonny's philosophical objections to Cobras-for-hire sound like nothing more than camouflage for an old habitual reflex. Corwin swallowed hard against the rebuttal that wanted to come out. Now was not the time to defend his father's stand. "So what exactly do you want?" he asked instead. "A contractual commitment to handle whatever this threat is that Qasama poses?"
"Of course not," she snorted. "No one in their right mind would give a Troft a carte blanche like that. All I want is to commit us to a survey mission—at Troft expense."
"Won't that commit us to carrying out the rest of it, too?"
"Not if the agreement's drawn up carefully enough." She pursed her lips. "You're about to bring up the image question if we look Qasama over and then back out. I don't really have any better answer to that than the one I gave fifteen minutes ago. The risks of not knowing what kind of threat Qasama is are greater than the risks of looking weak to the Trofts."
Corwin took a deep breath. "Then I presume you'd like to have that as the official recommendation to the Council in a few hours?"
"I'd like that very much," she said cautiously. "What's it going to cost me?"
Corwin gestured toward the conference room down the hall. "Your proposed survey mission would include a maximum of twelve people plus ship's crew, as I recall. I want two of those twelve to be my father's choice."
"With his skeptic's attitude to keep the mission honest?" She smiled wryly. "As a matter of fact, that's probably a good idea . . . but giving a governor emeritus sixteen percent of the package isn't likely to fly very smoothly."
"I can sweeten the deal considerably. How would you like to send an undetectable Cobra on the mission?"
He had the satisfaction of seeing her eyes widen with surprise. "I thought a careful deep-body scan would pick up even Cobra gear."
"It will," Corwin nodded. "But a scan of that type takes almost fifteen minutes to complete. How many times is a host likely to subject visiting dignitaries to that sort of thing?"
She frowned at him for several heartbeats. "My immediate reaction is that you're being anthropomorphic in the extreme. Suppose their deep-body stuff is more sensitive or just faster than ours, for example? But assuming you're right, then what?—cram a Cobra surgery team into the Dewdrop for some fast work?"
"Not at all. I propose sending a Cobra and a non-Cobra who are virtually indistinguishable from each other. My twin brothers Joshua and Justin."
Telek's breath came out in a thoughtful hiss. "Cute. Very cute. So the Cobra stays aboard ship until the aliens have done all their studies on the landing party, and then they switch places? Interesting proposal. But suppose the Qasamans use something besides sight for identification? Sound or scent, for instance?"
Corwin shrugged, trying to make the gesture look casual. "Then we're out of luck. But most land predators we know of—including those on Troft and Dominion worlds—rely heavily on sight. I think it's a fair gamble, and if it doesn't work we haven't really lost anything."
"Except two places in the mission that could have gone to other people." Telek leaned back in her chair, her eyes focused somewhere behind Corwin's head. He waited, forcing himself to breathe normally . . . and abruptly her eyes returned to him and she nodded. "All right, it's a deal . . . on one further condition. You—or, rather, your father—must support my bid to go on the mission."
"You?" Corwin blurted. "But that's—"
"Ridiculous? Hardly. The mission's going to need both scientific and political experts aboard, and I'm the only governor who qualifies in both fields and is healthy enough to make the trip."
"Your biological degree is a long way behind you."
"I've kept up with the field. And we need someone of governor rank in case some major policy decision comes up. Unless you know any syndics you'd trust with that task."
But can I trust you with it? He pursed his lips tightly, unsure of what he should do.
"You've got time to think," she said calmly as the silence began to stretch. Glancing at her watch, she stood up. "The mission team's not likely to be determined for at least a week or two. Talk it over with Jonny, work through the logic�
��I think you'll agree I should be aboard. But it's time to go back in there and get a recommendation for the Council to chew on."
Corwin stood up, too. "All right . . . but if I vote with you now, I want you to support my getting Justin and Joshua aboard—whether my father ultimately backs your own bid or not."
She smiled wryly. "Realized you were giving away too much, did you? Well, that's how you learn. Sure, I'll support your brothers. It's a good idea . . . and to be perfectly honest, I don't expect I'll need Jonny's vote to get on the mission, anyway."
The vote was four to two in favor of Telek's proposal when it came to Corwin's turn. He avoided Hemner's and Roi's eyes as he made it six to two, but he could feel their astonished gazes on him as Stiggur recorded the vote into the record.
Three hours later, the full Council made it official.
* * *
Lying propped up in his hospital bed, Jonny listened silently to Corwin's report of the governors' session, the Council meeting, and the private deal he'd made. I should be angry, Jonny thought, peripherally aware of the IV tubes feeding clear fluids into his arms. Some calming factor in the antibiotic voodoo mixture? Or did I really know all along my plan wouldn't make it?
Corwin stopped speaking and waited, the tension lines visible in his face. "Have you spoken to Justin or Joshua about this?" Jonny asked. "Or your mother?"
Corwin actually winced. "No, to both questions. I came up with the basic idea last week, but I hoped I wouldn't have to suggest it to anyone. At least, not without talking to you first. I think they'd be willing, though."
"Oh, they'll be willing, all right—that's not the problem." Jonny turned his head to gaze out the window. Capitalia's streetlights were visible below, the cityscape superimposed on the reflection of the hospital room around him. "You boys have always been very precious to your mother, you know," he said. "You provided the extra family warmth that I often wasn't able to give her. Too often wasn't able to. As a Cobra . . . then a syndic . . . then a governor . . . it takes a lot of time to serve people, Corwin. Time taken away from your family. You came to work with me here, and Justin's becoming a Cobra . . . and now Joshua's going to be taken from her, too." He realized abruptly he was rambling and brought his eyes back to Corwin.
