by Timothy Zahn
"Trainee Hariman?"
"Sir, I was under the impression that the normal training period was six to eight weeks, not four."
"Weren't you told this wasn't going to be normal training?" Layn countered.
"Ah, yes, sir, I was. It just seemed to me . . . a little quick, that's all. Especially with the new weapons being introduced with this group."
Layn cocked an eyebrow. "What new weapons are those, Trainee?"
"Ah . . . I was under the impression, sir, that the Council had approved the use of short-range voltage generators for use through the arcthrower circuits."
"You're referring, I take it, to the so-called stun-guns? You're well informed, Trainee Hariman."
"Much of the weapons debate has been public knowledge, sir."
"So it has. As it happens, though, that won't be a consideration. For the simple reason that none of you will be participating in that experiment. The Council decided you were going to be experimental enough as it was—" Layn's eyes flicked to Jin "—and there was no need to give you untried equipment as well."
"Yes, sir," Hariman said. "That doesn't explain how we're going to learn how to be Cobras in four weeks instead of six, sir."
"You questioning your ability as a trainee, or my ability as an instructor?"
"Uh . . . neither, sir."
"Good. Did you say something a moment ago, Trainee Todor?"
"Sir?" The trainee standing between Hariman and Sun sounded startled.
"The question was simple enough, Trainee. Did you say something to Trainee Sun while I was explaining why you hadn't had stun-guns installed?"
"Uh . . . it was nothing, sir."
"Repeat it."
"I, uh . . ." Todor audibly took a breath. "I was just thinking that, as far as extra weaponry was concerned . . . uh, that Trainee Moreau could be easily implanted with a pair of turret guns."
Layn's expression didn't change, but it seemed to Jin that his eyes flicked briefly to her breasts before rising to her face. "Trainee Moreau? Any comment?"
A truly scathing retort had already come to mind, but it seemed better not to use it. At least not here and now. "No, sir," she said.
"No. Well, then, I've got one." Layn's eyes flicked to the other three trainees . . . and abruptly his face hardened. "It's pretty clear that none of you is exactly thrilled at having a woman in the unit. Now, you've all heard the Council's reasons as to why they think this is worth trying, so I won't hash that over again. But I will say this.
"To tell you the absolute truth, I don't much like it either. Special military units have always been men-only, from the Dominion of Man's old Alpha Command all the way on up to the Cobras. I don't like breaking tradition like this; I especially don't like the idea that this is a test to see if the Cobras should be opened up in the future to more women. In fact, I'll go so far as to say that I hope Trainee Moreau will fail. But." His gaze hardened even more. "If she fails, she is going to do it on her own. Understood? Specifically, she is not going to fail because you or I or anyone else pushed her harder than she should have been pushed. Considerations of fairness aside, I don't want anyone claiming that the test was unfair. You got all that?"
There were three murmurs. "I asked if you got all that," Layn snapped.
"Yes, sir," the others said in unison.
"Good." Layn took a deep breath. "All right, then, let's get to work. That tree over there—" he pointed to their right "—is about three kilometers away. You've got six minutes to get there."
Sun moved first, stepping behind Todor and Hariman to take the lead. Jin was right behind him, the other two trainees falling in belatedly after her. Pace yourself, girl, she warned herself, trying as best she could to let the servo motors in her legs do most of the work. Around her, the thudding of the others' footsteps filled her ears, almost drowning out the faint whine from above . . .
Abruptly, the sound clicked with her consciousness, and she glanced up, eyes searching the sky. There it was, just coming into sight over the treetops to her right: a Troft-built aircar, bearing toward the complex that was serving as their training center. She twisted her head further around, seeking out Layn, but if the instructor was surprised by the craft's arrival it didn't show in his stance. Probably someone here to observe from the Directorate, she decided, shifting her attention back to the race.
To her annoyance, she found that while she'd let the aircar's presence distract her both Todor and Hariman had managed to pass her by. It's okay, she reminded herself, picking up her speed a little. They're more concerned with making sure they don't come in last than they are with pacing themselves. That'll probably work against them. Todor, she noted, was already breathing harder than he should—either hyperventilating or else not letting his servos take as much of the load as he ought to. Either way, he should find himself in trouble before the run was over.
Involuntarily, Jin's jaw clenched. She didn't like having to play tactical games like this, least of all against the men who were going to be her teammates on Qasama. But she didn't have much choice in the matter. Layn had put it very clearly: her performance here on the training field was going to determine not only whether or not she herself became a full Cobra, but also whether or not any other woman in the Cobra Worlds would ever have that same chance.
She'd never before been much of a one to fight for universal causes; but whether she liked it or not, she was smack square in the middle of this one. In the middle, with nothing but her own stamina and determination going for her.
And—maybe—the legacy of the Moreau family. Pace yourself, she repeated over and over to herself, using the words as a running cadence. Pace yourself . . .
She was second, behind only Sun, when they at last reached the tree.
* * *
The Troft lying on his couch by the aircar's starboard window stirred as the four trainees far below reached the tree. [The second-place human,] he said, his high-pitched catertalk almost swallowed up by the whine of the aircar's thrusters. [It was a female?]
Beside Corwin, Governor-General Chandler harrumphed. "You're very perceptive," he said reluctantly, throwing a glare in Corwin's direction.
"It's just an experiment," Priesly added sourly. "Pushed through by certain elements in our government—"
[Of the four, she is the best,] the Troft said.
Priesly's eyes narrowed. "Why do you say that?" he demanded.
The Troft's arm membranes flexed, then relaxed back against his upper arms. [Our approach, she was the only one who noticed it,] he explained. [Her face, it sought out the sound and confirmed our identity as non-hostile before resuming her running. That sort of alertness, it is a preferred attribute for a Cobra warrior?]
"It is indeed," Chandler admitted. "Well. At any rate, now that you've seen the trainees—at least from a distance—we'll be heading over to the special camp where this proposed mission is being headquartered. You'll be able to examine all the Qasaman data there, see why it is we think there's something happening that we ought to investigate."
The Troft seemed to consider that. [This information, you would not be giving it to me without need. What is it you want?]
Chandler took a deep breath. "In a nutshell: transport. We can use one of our own starships to get the team from here to Qasama, of course, but we haven't yet got a safe way for them to get from orbit to ground. We would like to borrow a Troft military shuttle for that purpose."
"We don't want to land a full starship," Priesly put in. "Not only because of the danger of detection—"
[A vehicle with a stardrive, you do not want it to fall into Qasaman hands,] Speaker One cut him off. [My intelligence, do not insult it, Governor Priesly.]
Priesly shut up, a pained look on his face, and for a moment Corwin could almost feel sorry for him. There'd been no anger in Speaker One's comment—merely a desire to save time—but Priesly hadn't dealt with this particular representative of the Tlos'khin'fohi demesne long enough to know his personality. Speaker One had
been an interdemesne trader before being given the Cobra Worlds liaison post four years ago, and Corwin had long since noted that such Trofts had an almost supernatural control over their tempers. Not surprising, given the loose and often combative relationships that existed between the hundreds of demesnes that made up the Troft Assemblage. A trader who got into verbal fights with his customers every third time he was out of his home demesne wouldn't be a trader for long.
"Governor Priesly meant no harm, Speaker One," Chandler spoke up into the conversational void, looking pleased himself at Priesly's discomfiture. "The tactical reasons for borrowing such a landing craft are of course obvious. The financial reasons, I imagine, are also obvious to you."
[Such a shuttle, you cannot afford to buy. ]
Chandler nodded. "That's it exactly. Though we're in far better shape now than we were thirty years ago when this whole Qasaman mess began, even now our budget will only support the cost of the mission itself—that is, the personnel, basic equipment, and specialized training. You'll remember we're still paying off the last full starship we bought from you; we can't afford to buy a shuttle, too."
[The Tlos'khin'fahi demesne, why should it lend you this craft? We are far from Qasama, with little at stake should they escape their world.]
Translation: the bargaining had begun. "We don't necessarily want the Tlos'khin'fahi demesne itself to provide the shuttle," Corwin put in before Chandler could answer. "However, as our main trading partner, the health of our economy should be of some concern to you . . . and if our buying a shuttle would hurt that economy, it would have at least a minor effect on you."
[The Baliu'ckha'spmi demesne, would it not have more of a reason to provide you a shuttle?]
Chandler threw a glance at Corwin. "Probably," he conceded. "The problem is that . . . the Baliu'ckha'spmi demesne might infer the wrong thing from such a request."
[You refer to the trade by which you obtained the New Worlds?]
"Basically," Chandler said heavily. "The agreement was that we would neutralize the Qasaman threat for them, after all. If they decide this means that Qasama wasn't properly neutralized . . . well, we don't really want to open that can of snakes."
The Troft's arm membranes fluttered again as he sorted through the idiom. [The reason for bringing me out here in secret, it is also because of this concern?]
"You don't miss much," Chandler admitted. "Yes, we didn't want any word of this leaking out to other demesne representatives if we could possibly avoid it."
For a moment Speaker One was silent. The aircar began a leisurely turn, and Corwin glanced out the window. Below them, nestled in an artificial clearing, was the small logging complex that had been temporarily taken over by the Cobra Academy for the special training course. [The question, I will bring it to my demesne-lord's attention,] Speaker One said as the aircar dipped toward a scarred landing square near the main building's entrance. [Some sort of trade, it will of course be necessary.]
"Of course," Chandler nodded, sounding relieved. "We'll be happy to consider any request he suggests."
[My demesne-lord, he will also remember that the original pacification plan was created by the late Governor Jonny Moreau,] the Troft continued. [If I could inform him that one of Governor Jonny Moreau's line would be planning this mission as well, it would give more weight to my arguments.]
Chandler threw Corwin a surprised look. "Why?" he asked.
[Continuity in the affairs of war, it is as valued as in the affairs of business,] the Troft said—rather coolly, Corwin thought. [Such a thing, Governor-General Chandler, it is possible?]
Chandler took a deep breath. From the expression on his face, he was clearly envisioning the political flap were he to reinstate Justin to the Academy while still under a cloud from the Monse shooting . . . "I'm afraid, Speaker One," Priesly spoke up tartly, "the Moreau family is no longer directly involved with such military planning—"
"Fortunately, that won't be a problem," Corwin interrupted him. "The human female you saw in the clearing a few minutes ago—the one you thought was the best of the trainees? She is Jasmine Moreau, daughter of Cobra Justin Moreau and Governor Jonny Moreau's granddaughter."
Priesly sputtered; Chandler cut him off with a hand signal. "Will that be adequate, Speaker One?" the governor-general asked.
There was a slight bump as the aircar touched down. [It will indeed,] the Troft said. [Your data, I will now be pleased to study it.]
Chandler exhaled quietly. "Certainly. Follow me."
Chapter 7
"All right, Cobras, move it out," Mistra Layn growled. "Remember this is a forest—watch your feet and your heads."
Keying her auditory enhancers up a notch, Jin fell into her usual leftguard position in the loose diamond formation around Layn and crossed with the others under the trees at the edge of the clearing. It was an operation they'd practiced several times in the past few days: walking through the fenced-off part of the forest around their camp, using their optical and auditory enhancers to try and spot the various animal-cue simulators and moving-head targets the instructors had planted around them. Spotting a squawker or target first earned the trainee a point; nailing it cleanly with fingertip lasers before the group got within the animal's theoretical attack range was worth two more points.
It was just one more of the silly competitions Layn was continually using to pit his trainees against each other. One more needless opportunity, Jin thought bitterly, for the other three trainees to hate her.
It was hardly her fault that she was better than they were at these games. It was certainly not her fault that they couldn't accept that.
Her innocence in the matter was cold comfort, though, and thinking about it brought an ache to her throat. She hadn't expected instant acceptance by the others—she'd known full well that Uncle Corwin's lectures about military traditions hadn't merely been scare tactics. But she had thought that by now, eleven days into the training, some of the hostility would surely have faded away.
But it hadn't. Oh, they were polite enough to her—Layn's big speech the first day of training about letting her fail on her own had been backed up by action, and both he and the others were clearly bending over backwards to avoid any kind of overtly prejudicial behavior. But the whispered comments and secret smiles were still there, lurking most outwardly in the quiet times when the trainees were alone.
Or rather, when Jin was alone. The other three spent a lot of that time together.
It hurt. In many ways, it hurt worse than the worst physical aftereffects of her surgery. She'd always been something of a misfit as she was growing up—either too quiet or too aggressive for the other girls and even most of the boys her age. Only with her family had she ever felt truly at home, truly accepted. With her family, and to a lesser extent with the Cobra friends of her father's . . .
A faint chirping from ahead penetrated her brooding. A tarbine squawker, she identified it, head automatically turning back and forth to pinpoint the sound. There?—there. Activating her optical sensors' targeting capability, she locked onto the small black cube nestled in the crook of a branch and fired her right fingertip laser.
A needle of light lanced out, and the box abruptly stopped chirping.
"A tarbine?" Sun called softly to her from the rear point of the diamond.
"Yeah," she said over her shoulder.
"Why'd you kill it?" Layn asked from the center. "Tarbines aren't dangerous."
"No, sir," she said, recognizing that she'd made the right decision and that Layn simply wanted her to explain it for the others. "But where tarbines are, there's a good chance you'll find mojos, too."
"With their accompanying spine leopards or krisjaws," Layn nodded. "Right. Besides which . . . ? Anyone?"
"Their chirping might mask the sound of something more dangerous?" Todor hazarded from in front of Layn.
"Good enough," the instructor grunted. "Enough conversation. Look sharp."
And a bare second later, the exerci
se abruptly ceased to be routine. Dead ahead, the bushes suddenly parted and a huge cat-like animal stepped out to face them.
A spine leopard.
It's impossible, a small fraction of Jin's mind insisted. The fence surrounding this part of the forest was five meters high, a theoretically impossible barrier even for a spine leopard.
And then the animal snarled, and theory was abruptly forgotten as four sets of fingertip lasers flashed out to converge on the spine leopard's head.
Uselessly, of course, and Jin silently cursed herself for letting her reflexes waste precious time that way. The decentralized spine leopard nervous system was functionally invulnerable to the kind of localized damage the fingertip lasers could inflict. The only known way of dealing with the animals was to get in a clean shot with the antiarmor laser running lengthwise down her left calf—
She was actually starting to shift her weight onto her right foot when the crucial fact caught up with her conscious mind: the trainees' current neckwrap computers didn't allow the antiarmor laser to be activated.
The others' fingertip lasers were still slicing uselessly at the spine leopard, leaving blackened tracks in the fur where they passed. And the look that was growing in the creature's eyes . . . "Stop it!" Jin snapped. "Can't you see you're just making it mad?"
"Then what the hell do you want—?" Todor barked back.
"Try your disruptors!" Sun cut him off. An instant later a backwash of half audible, half felt sound washed over Jin as the others obeyed, playing tight cones of ultrasound over the spine leopard. Another waste of time, Jin thought tightly. Sonic weapons could throw the predators off-balance, but only temporarily; and like the fingertip lasers, their use seemed to enrage the beasts. As soon as this one got its balance back—
And then it struck her. Layn, fully equipped with both antiarmor laser and the nanocomputer needed to use it, had yet to fire a shot.
Another test. Of course—and with that all the pieces fell together. A single spine leopard, captured and released into the enclosure, to see if their first response would be to scatter or to continue their assigned mission of protecting Layn. Doubtless the Cobra already had his antiarmor laser target-locked on the animal, ready to fire the second it looked like things were getting out of control.
