The Cobra Trilogy

by Timothy Zahn

  Daulo's face went a little pale. "The demon warrior and his shadow," he whispered.

  So the ghost stories about her father and uncle hadn't faded with time. Jin fought back a grimace. "You have to understand, Kruin Sammon, that in our judgment the mojos were as much a threat to your people as they were to ours. We were considering your welfare, too, when we made our decision."

  "Your kindness has clearly gone unrewarded," Kruin growled, heavily sarcastic. "Perhaps the Shahni will offer you some honor for your actions."

  "The option was full warfare," Jin told him quietly. "And don't scoff—there were those who thought that would be necessary. Many among us were terrified of what a planet of people under mojo control could do to us when they escaped the confines of this one world. Do your histories record that it was your people who threatened to come out someday and destroy us?"

  "And this is your justification for such a devastating preemptive strike?" Kruin demanded. "A threat made in the heat of self-defense?"

  "I'm justifying nothing," Jin said. "I'm trying to show that we didn't act out of hatred or animosity."

  "Perhaps we'd have preferred a more heated emotion to such icy calculation," Kruin retorted. "To send animal predators to fight us instead of doing the job yourselves—"

  "But don't you see?" Jin pleaded. "The whole razorarm approach was the only one that would get the mojos away from you without causing any truly permanent damage to your safety and well-being."

  "Permanent damage?" Daulo cut in. "What do you think the extra mesh above the wall is for—?"

  Kruin stopped him with a gesture. "Explain."

  Jin took a deep breath. "Once the majority of razorarms are accompanied by mojos, most of their attacks on people should stop."

  "Why?" Kruin snorted. "Because the mojos have fond memories of us?"

  "No," Jin shook her head. "Because you can kill the razorarms."

  A frown creased Kruin's forehead. "That makes no sense. We can't possibly destroy enough of them to make a difference."

  "We don't have to," Daulo said, his voice abruptly thoughtful. "If Jasmine Moreau is right about the mojos, simply having the capability to kill them will be enough."

  Kruin cocked an eyebrow at his son. "Explain, Daulo Sammon."

  Daulo's eyes were on Jin. "The mojos are intelligent enough to understand the power of our weapons; is that correct?" She nodded, and he turned to face his father. "So then the mojos have a strong interest in making sure there's as little fighting as possible between us and their razorarms."

  "And what of the one in the forest this morning?" Kruin scoffed. "It had a mojo, and yet attacked you."

  Daulo shook his head. "I've been thinking about that, my father. It didn't attack until I first fired on it."

  "Speculation," Kruin shook his head. But the frown remained on his face.

  "Remember your history," Jin urged him. "Your own people told us that the krisjaws, too, were once relatively harmless to the Qasaman people. It was only after the mojos began deserting them for you that they became so dangerous."

  Kruin's gaze drifted to the offworld supplies and equipment spread out on his table. "You said the Shahni were aware of the mojos' effect on us. Why then would they have risked their internal harmony by purging the cities of their mojos?"

  Jin shook her head. "I don't know. Perhaps the mojos simply deserted the cities more quickly once an alternative came along."

  "Or perhaps the cities realized that the main conflict would be not with their own citizens but with those of us in the villages," Daulo muttered.

  "Perhaps." Kruin looked hard at Jin. "But whatever the reasons or motivations, what ultimately matters is that the people of Aventine interfered with our society. And in doing so brought hardship and death upon us."

  Jin looked him straight in the eye, trying to shake off the feeling that she personally was on trial here. "What matters," she corrected quietly, "is that you were slaves. Would you rather we have left you as you were, less than truly human?"

  "It's always possible to claim love as a motive for one's actions," Kruin said, a bitter smile on his face. "Tell me, Jasmine Moreau: if our positions were reversed, would you honestly thank us for doing to you what you have done to us?"

  Jin bit at her lip. It would be so easy to lie . . . and so pointless. "At the place in your history where you now live . . . no. I can only hope that future generations will recognize that what we did truly had to be done. And will accept that our motives were honorable even if they can't honestly thank us."

  Kruin sighed and fell silent, his eyes drifting away from her and to his table. Jin glanced at Daulo, then turned to look out the window. The afternoon shadows were starting to stretch across Milika, and in a short while it would be time for the evening meal.

  A perfect time to drug or poison her if they decided she was too dangerous to bargain with . . .

  "What is it you want from us?" Kruin cut abruptly into her thoughts.

  Jin turned her attention back to him, bracing herself. The question was an inevitable one, and she'd put a great deal of thought into considering just how much she should tell them. But each time she'd turned the problem over in her mind she'd come to the same conclusion: complete honesty was the only way. Whatever trust they had in her now—and she didn't flatter herself that it was much—would evaporate instantly if they ever caught her in another lie. And without their trust she had no chance at all of completing her mission. Or even of staying alive. "First of all," she said, "I have to tell you that for the past thirty years we've been keeping tabs on you through spy satellites orbiting your world."

  She braced herself for an explosion, but Kruin merely nodded. "That's hardly a secret. Everyone on Qasama has seen them—dim specks moving across the night sky. It's said that a favorite topic of conversation when the Shahni meet is how we might go about destroying them."

  "I can't blame them," Jin admitted. "Well, anyway, it seems that someone's finally come up with a way to do it."

  Kruin cocked an eyebrow. "Interesting. I take it you came here to stop that person?"

  Jin shook her had. "Actually, no. Our group came to gather information, and that alone. It's not quite as simple as it sounds, you see: the satellites aren't being physically destroyed, just temporarily disabled . . . and we're so far unable to figure out how it's being done."

  She described as best she could the gaps that had been made in the satellites' records. "What eventually tipped them off was the discovery that there was a definite pattern in the blank regions. Most of them fell over that roofed complex northeast of Azras."

  "You must mean Mangus?" Daulo said.

  "Is that what it's called?" Jin frowned. The word sounded vaguely familiar . . . "Is Mangus someone's name?"

  Daulo shook his head. "It's the ancient root of the word mongoose. I don't know why they call the place that."

  Jin felt her mouth go dry. Mongoose. A legendary Old Earth animal . . . whose fame lay in their ability to kill cobras. I could probably tell you, she thought morosely, why they named it that. "Any idea what exactly they're doing in there?"

  Kruin's eyes were hard on her face; but, surprisingly, he didn't ask about whatever it was he saw there. "Electronics research and manufacture," he said. "Quite a lot of it, apparently, judging by the quantities of refined metals they buy from us."

  "Quantities that seem excessive for that kind of electronics manufacture?" Jin asked.

  "How much metal would be excessive?" Kruin countered. "I'd need to know their output before making any comparison."

  "Well, what exactly do they make? Do you have any examples here?"

  Kruin shook his head. "Their goods go mainly to the cities."

  Or at least that's what they tell the villages, anyway, Jin thought. "Any way to check on what their output actually is?"

  Kruin and Daulo eyed each other. "We could probably get the appropriate figures for Azras," Kruin told her. "For the other cities . . . unlikely. It might help if we
knew what it is you're looking for."

  Jin took a deep breath. "The analysis group on Aventine seemed to think Mangus might be a site for missile testing."

  Kruin's face went suddenly hard. "Missile testing? What kind of missiles?"

  Jin held out her hands, palm upward. "That's one of the things I have to find out. But I can only think of two uses for missiles: as vehicles for space travel . . . or as weapons."

  For a long moment Kruin stared at her in silence. "So if it's the first, you'll report that we're again a threat to you?" he said abruptly, his voice harsh. "And the demon warriors will come here again and destroy Mangus as a warning? Whereas if it's merely the cities planning blackmail or open warfare on the villages, you'll all smile and leave us alone?"

  Jin met his gaze without flinching. "If all we wanted was to destroy you, we could do it in a hundred different ways. That's not a threat, that's simple reality. You came originally from the Dominion of Man—you must have some memories of the horrible weapons a technological world can create."

  Kruin grimaced. "We do," he admitted. "It was one of the reasons our ancestors left."

  "All right, then. We aren't going to try and destroy you—whether you believe that or not, it's true. It's also true that we have absolutely no interest in fighting an unnecessary war with you. We don't have the time or money or lives to waste on one, for starters. If Qasama is developing space flight . . . well, we ought to be able to live with that. If, that is, we can be reasonably certain that the whole planet isn't going to rise, en masse, and attack us."

  Daulo hissed derisively. "Who on Qasama would be foolish enough to lead such a suicidal attack? And who would be foolish enough to follow them?"

  Jin shook her head. "I don't know. That's another of the things I have to find out."

  "And if Mangus is building missiles for internecine war?" Kruin persisted. "Will your people, having revived in us this ability to destroy, simply turn their backs on us?"

  Jin clenched her teeth. Again there was no point in lying. "It's possible. I hope not, but our leaders could decide that way. Bear in mind, though, that with my companions dead I am this mission. If my report states that you're not a threat, and that we stand more to gain by establishing political and trade relations with your culture than by letting that culture destroy itself . . ." She shrugged. "Who knows what they'll do? And with my uncle on the Directorate, my voice will at least have a chance to be heard."

  "This is your uncle who barely escaped from Qasama with his life?" Kruin reminded her pointedly.

  She shook her head. "Different uncle. His brother, Corwin Moreau, is a governor on Aventine."

  Kruin frowned. "Your family has such status and power in your world?"

  A shiver ran up Jin's back. Her father under house arrest; Uncle Corwin's political power balanced precariously across her own shoulders . . . "For the moment, at least, it does," she sighed. "There are forces trying to change that."

  "With the decision dependent on the report you bring back?" Kruin asked.

  "More on how I personally do on the mission." Jin shook her head. "But never mind that. I've told you why I'm here, answered all your questions as well as I could. I need to know—now—whether you're going to allow me to complete my mission."

  Kruin pursed his lips. "Keeping your identity within our family would be highly dangerous—I'm sure you realize that. If you were discovered by some other means the repercussions would be disastrous. What do you offer in exchange for this risk on our part?"

  "What do you suggest?" Jin asked, trying to keep her voice steady. I did it, she thought, not quite sure she believed it. He's actually bargaining with me.

  Now if only he wanted something she could deliver.

  "As you're now well aware," Kruin said, "your plan to split our society into conflicting factions has succeeded only too well. Whatever Mangus turns out to be, you also know that there's already a certain amount of trouble between the cities as a group and the villages as a group. Besides the mojo question, the tension is fueled by the fact that heavy industry is concentrated in the cities, while control of resources lies mainly with the villages."

  Jin nodded. It was a classical enough situation, probably played out hundreds of times throughout mankind's early days. Fleetingly, she wished she knew how those various Old Earth cultures had handled it. "I hope you don't want me to try and defuse the situation—"

  "Grant me more intelligence than that," Kruin cut her off coldly. "This is our world—our politics, our culture, our people—and any advice you as an outlander could give would be less than useless."

  Jin swallowed. "Excuse me. Please continue."

  Kruin glared at her a moment before continuing. "We're already preparing to stand together against attempts to dominate us—the village leaders in this part of Qasama meet periodically to discuss the situation and coordinate any activities that seem called for. But there are some who see turmoil as a chance for advancement . . . and if there is indeed turmoil in Qasama's immediate future, I want the Sammon family able to face it without such dangerous distractions at our backs."

  Jin grimaced. "Distractions such as the Yithtra family across the Inner Green?"

  "I see Daulo has told you of them," Kruin growled. "Then you'll understand that their obsession with dragging us down is something that must be dealt with. Now would seem to be a good time to do so."

  "Are you asking me to murder one or more of them?" Jin asked quietly. "Because if you are, I'll tell you right now that I can't do that."

  "You're a warrior, aren't you?" Daulo put in.

  "Killing in warfare isn't the same as murder," she countered.

  "I don't ask you to murder," Kruin shook his head. "I ask merely that you find a way to diminish the Yithtra family's influence in this village. That's the bargain I offer you, Jasmine Moreau: destruction of the Yithtra family's power in exchange for sanctuary in our household."

  Jin licked her lips. It ought to be possible, surely, though at the moment she didn't have the vaguest idea how she would pull off such a trick. But then what happens? she wondered. What would that kind of power loss mean in this culture?—loss of homes, maybe, the whole family even turned out of the village? Could it even lead directly to wholesale death, either suicide or murder?

  The moral implications were bad enough . . . but the possible political ramifications were even worse. It would set a clear precedent of Cobra-World meddling in Qasaman affairs, with all that that would mean from both sides' perspectives. The Directorate would probably welcome the idea of rewarding cooperative Qasamans; but from the Qasaman side, Kruin's bargain smacked of high treason. Could she ethically allow herself to be a part of such a thing?

  Or did she really have any choice? "I offer you a counter proposal," she said at last. "I won't destroy the Yithtra family's power directly; but I will so enhance your own prestige and standing that they won't dare oppose you."

  Kruin gazed at her, his eyes measuring. "And how do you propose to do that?" he asked.

  "I don't know," she confessed. "But I'll find a way."

  For a long minute the room was silent. Then, taking a deep breath, Kruin nodded gravely. "The bargain is sealed. You, Jasmine Moreau, are now under the protection of my family. Our household is yours; we shield you with our lives."

  Jin swallowed. "Thank you, Kruin Sammon. I will betray neither your hospitality nor our bargain."

  Kruin nodded again and rose from his cushions, Daulo following suit. "Tomorrow representatives from Mangus will be arriving at Milika to receive a shipment of our metals. You may wish to begin your investigation by observing them."

  "I will do so," Jin said.

  "And now—" Kruin leaned back down to his desk and touched a button "—it's time for the evening meal. Come, let us join the others."

  Jin kept her expression neutral. Drugs or poison at the evening meal . . . "Yes," she agreed. "Let us."

  Chapter 24

  The insistent warble of his bedside phone
snapped Corwin wide awake. Must be some trouble, was his first thought, focusing with an effort on his clock. But it wasn't the middle of the night, after all; it was only a little after six and almost time to get up anyway. Probably just Thena with some latebreaking appointment change or something, he decided, reaching to the phone and jabbing the instrument on. "Hello?"

  But it wasn't Thena's face that appeared on the screen. It was Governor-General Chandler's . . . and it was as grim as Corwin had ever seen the man. "You'd better get over to the starfield right away," he said without preamble. "The Southern Cross'll be landing in about fifteen minutes, and you'll want to see what they've got."

  "The Southern Cross?" Corwin frowned, a knot starting to form in his stomach. "What's gone wrong?"

  "Everything," Chandler snarled. "Just get down here."

  Corwin gritted his teeth. "Yes, sir."

  The phone screen went black. "Damn," Corwin muttered under his breath. Swinging his legs out of bed, he grabbed his clothes and started pulling them on. There was only one conceivable reason why the Southern Cross would be back so soon: the Qasaman mission had met with some kind of disaster.

  He paused, half dressed, heart pounding in his throat. A disaster. An emergency, perhaps, requiring swift action . . . and long experience had showed him that committees and councils weren't built for speed.

  Most jobs are done, the old couplet came back to him, by committees of one.

  Gritting his teeth, he reached back to the phone and punched a number.

  * * *

  He arrived at the starfield twenty minutes later to find that Chandler had sealed off one of the conference rooms in the entrypoint building. Two other Directorate members—Telek and Priesly—had arrived before him . . . and one look at their faces told him that the situation was even worse than he'd feared.

  He was right.

  Captain Koja's report was short, partly because there wasn't much to say and partly because the enhanced telephoto on the wall display behind him said it all anyway. "We elected not to wait and see if he found the survival pod," the captain concluded, "under the assumption that we could serve him better by getting back and sounding the alarm." He looked at Chandler. "That's really all I have, sir. Do you have any questions?"