by Timothy Zahn
She made it with scant centimeters to spare, her nanocomputer jackknifing her horizontally to let her absorb the impact with her legs as she slammed into the smooth ceramic. Her fingers lunged forward, locked hard over the edge, and for a few moments she hung there motionlessly, listening for any sign that she'd been seen. But the compound remained quiet. Pulling herself up into a prone position atop the wall, she looked down over the edge.
And found she'd been right.
A cold chill shivered its way up her back, Mangus, she thought to herself, bitterness at her stupidity bringing a knot to her stomach. Mangus. Mongoose, An utterly obvious and natural name for a group seeing itself as the Qasaman answer to the Cobra threat. She and Kruin Sammon had both caught the name's significance, even to the point of having an argument about it . . . and in all of that fuss both of them had still managed to miss one small fact.
The fact that no one on Qasama had any business naming such a group mongoose in the first place . . . because no one on Qasama had ever heard the hated demon warriors referred to as Cobras.
Until now.
The Troft ship below was only about half visible, its long neck disappearing into a Troft-style maintenance building while a squat siege-tower unloader partially blocked her view of the main drive nozzles at the aft end. But enough was showing for her to see that the usual inkblot/sunburst indicators of ownership and demesne identification were missing.
There were figures moving down there—mostly Trofts, but a handful of humans as well. If the Trofts hadn't bothered to remove the equivalent identity marks from their clothing . . . but a quick telescopic examination showed they had. Something on the oddly shaped residential building across the compound from the ship, then? She shifted her attention to it—
And without warning there was a hooting of alarms from behind her.
Reflexively, she flattened herself to the top of the wall, biting back a curse as the human half of Mangus seemed to explode with light. Her light-amps automatically shut off in the glare; clenching her jaw, she kicked in her audio enhancers to compensate. Her opponents had the edge in sheer numbers, but if she could spot their positions before they started shooting, she might be able to eliminate them before they could do her too much damage.
Trained responses took over from the momentary panic . . . and it was only then that she realized that the floodlights weren't being directed at her. In fact, the placement of many of them—fastened to the wall a meter below her—had actually wound up leaving her in relative shadow. Lifting her head a few centimeters, she keyed her optical enhancers to telescopic and scanned the compound for the focus of the commotion.
It wasn't hard to find. Daulo and Akim, the latter limping slightly, were being half dragged away from the outer gate by an escort of six armed men.
Jin ground her teeth savagely. I should have gone with them, she told herself bitterly. For a long minute she watched the group walk toward the administrative center, a hundred wild schemes for saving them rushing tornado-like through her mind. Then, with a shuddering breath, she forced her emotions aside. All right, girl, knock it off. Calm down and think it out.
Daulo and Akim had been captured. All right. Obolo Nardin would know soon that they were on to his secret; but then he'd already suspected that much, anyway. Furthermore, since neither man had escaped or otherwise breached Mangus's security, there was no reason for Obolo to panic. Which meant that the inevitable interrogation would presumably be handled in a relatively leisurely fashion, and also that the Troft ship down there wouldn't be sent scurrying prematurely off to space with its cargo only half unloaded.
Until, that was, Obolo discovered his offworlder spy had escaped.
Damn.
Jin chewed at her lip, trying hard to come up with an alternative . . . but there wasn't one. Not if she wanted Daulo to live past the next hour or so. And the whole idea wasn't as crazy as it looked at first glance, anyway. Obolo was smart enough, but for all his chemically-stimulated mental abilities, he still lacked one crucial fact . . . and as long as he thought Jin was just an ordinary Aventinian, she and Daulo would have a chance.
The floodlights bathing the compound were still on, but the activity at the gate was dissipating now as the prisoners and their escort marched down the road toward the administrative center. Sliding along on her belly, Jin eased forward until she was between two of the wall-mounted lights. The ground directly below wasn't exactly dark, but it was as good as she was going to get. Taking a last look around, she slid off the wall to hang for a second by her hands, and dropped.
And gasped in shock as the impact of landing sent a stab of pain up through her left knee.
"Damn!" she hissed under her breath, rolling awkwardly over to a sitting position and clenching her leg tightly. For a long and terrifying minute she was afraid the vaunted Cobra equipment had failed her, that she'd actually succeeded in spraining or even breaking the joint. But finally the pain began to ease, and in another minute she was able to scramble carefully to her feet and start limping toward the administrative center.
She hadn't yet figured out how she was going to cover that much floodlit ground without being seen, but fortunately that problem solved itself. She'd taken only a few steps before the lights abruptly cut off, plunging the compound again into darkness. Excitement's over, folks; go to bed, she thought, increasing her speed to a sort of syncopated trot. Now if the freshly relaxed security extended to the doors of the administrative center . . .
Surprisingly, it did. Even more surprisingly, it also extended to the lower levels of the building where her cell was located; though once she thought about it it was obvious that any preliminary interrogation of their new prisoners would be taking place upstairs in Obolo's throne room. She hoped Daulo would remember to leave her out of whatever story he and Akim told them.
The guards she'd stunned were still lying unconscious in the washroom where she'd left them. Retrieving them, she treated each to another blast from her sonic as a precaution and then carried them back to their posts. A quick study of the cell door; then, raising her fingertip lasers, she burned a spectacular but shallow arc part of the way around the lock area. Not too much, she warned herself. Your theoretical rescuer didn't get very far, remember. When Obolo sent someone to check on her—as he eventually would—there had to be a plausible explanation as to why the guards had been knocked unconscious but Jin still a prisoner. Whatever conclusion Obolo came to, it ought to be possible to bend it to her own ends. She hoped.
A minute later she was back in her cell, relocking it behind her via the exposed mechanism. Replacing the metal plate over the opening was somewhat trickier, but by softening it first with her lasers she was able to smooth it back without leaving any major stress wrinkles to show it had once been off.
And after that there was nothing to do but wait. We'll let the offworlder spy kill them for us, Obolo had told his son. Jin had no idea how he planned to do it; but if he wanted to do it properly he would need to at least have Jin in the same room with Daulo and Akim before they were killed.
She hoped to God that Obolo would want to do it properly.
* * *
"In the name of the Shahni," Akim intoned formally, "I hereby charge you with treason against Qasama. All here are released of vows of loyalty to others and ordered to surrender to my authority."
A fine speech, Daulo thought; delivered with just the right combination of command and righteous anger.
It would undoubtedly have sounded even better if he and Akim hadn't been on their knees with their hands manacled behind them.
Seated on his cushions, Obolo Nardin raised a bored eyebrow. "You maintain your dignity well, Miron Akim," he said in a raspy voice. "So. You have said the required words. Now tell me the reason for which you charge my household with treason."
Akim's lip twisted. "Or in other words, what do the Shahni know about your treachery? Don't be foolish."
Obolo chuckled humorlessly. "Better and better. Now you see
k to plant doubt within me as to whether any of my plans are known outside the walls of Mangus. Unfortunately, your attempts are useless. You forget that I know exactly what the Shahni know of me . . . which is nothing at all."
There was a flurry of movement behind them. Daulo risked turning his head away from Obolo Nardin, received a slap from one of his guards for his trouble. But not before he saw that it was an unsteady Radig Nardin who was being helped into the room. He focused on Obolo again, but if the other man was concerned over his son's health, it wasn't visible. "Well, Radig Nardin?" he asked. "You were sent to detain them. Why did you fail?"
Radig passed the two prisoners, throwing acid looks at them as he did so. "They ambushed me, my father. One of the guards who was with me may not survive the night."
"Indeed?" Obolo's voice was cold. "Were five then not enough against two?"
Radig refused to shrivel under his father's gaze. "No, my father. Not when they were armed with devices of offworld origin."
Daulo felt his stomach knot up. "Explain," Obolo ordered.
Radig nodded to one of his men, who stepped forward and made the sign of respect. "We found severe burns on and around an electrical socket in the hallway where Master Nardin was attacked," he told Obolo. "Clearly the source of the bright flash that was used against him."
"Indeed." Obolo shifted his eyes to another man standing by. "Bring the offworlder woman." The other nodded and hurried out.
Beside him, Daulo felt Akim stiffen. "What is this about an offworlder woman?" he asked cautiously.
"We have the Aventinian spy you've been seeking," Obolo told him calmly. "She's been our prisoner since morning."
Akim seemed to digest that. "Then perhaps your activities this evening can yet be overlooked," he suggested slowly. "The Shahni are very anxious to find and interrogate this spy. If you release her to me, I'm sure any other problems between you and the Shahni can be . . . worked out."
Daulo held his breath . . . but Obolo merely smiled. "You disappoint me, Miron Akim. The lie saturates both your face and your voice. However—" He raised a finger "—I'll grant you this much: you'll have your chance to interrogate the spy before we kill her."
Akim didn't reply.
"And you, Daulo Sammon," Obolo said, turning his eyes on Daulo. His shining eyes, Daulo noted, feeling a tightness in his throat. Jin had been right; the man was high on mind stimulants. "What is your interest in Mangus?"
Daulo considered fabricating a lie, decided it wasn't worth the effort. "The same interest any rational Qasaman would have in a nest of treason," he bit out. "I came to find out what you were doing here, and to stop you."
For a long moment Obolo continued to gaze at him. "You aren't yet defeated, are you, Daulo Sammon?" he said at last. Thoughtfully. "Your friend there is, though he hopes against hope for rescue. But you are not. Why? Is it simply that you don't realize what's at stake here?"
Daulo shook his head silently. "Answer!" Radig snarled, taking a threatening step toward him.
"Peace, my son," Obolo told him calmly. "Whatever secret Daulo Sammon thinks he possesses, it'll be ours soon enough." Abruptly, he leaned over toward his table and touched a button. "Yes?"
The voice was unintelligible from where Daulo knelt, but even so he could hear the nervous excitement in it. A tight smile tugged at Obolo's lips . . . "Interesting, though not entirely unexpected. Alert all guard posts and have a full sweep made of the grounds."
He leaned back into his cushions and glanced up at Radig. "As I said, my son, Daulo Sammon's secret is now ours. It seems the woman wasn't the sole survivor of her spacecraft's destruction."
Radig's hand strayed to the grip of the pistol belted at his side. "She's gone?"
"Her associate was fortunately not that competent," Obolo told him, eyes drifting to Daulo again. "Or perhaps he was sent on an errand. Did she tell him through the door that you needed aid?"
"If you're suggesting I would associate myself with an offworlder spy—" Daulo began.
"It hardly matters anymore," Obolo cut him off coldly. "Except possibly to you. You may be able to buy yourself a painless death if you can tell us where the other offworlder is."
A shiver ran up Daulo's spine. "I don't know what you're talking about," he growled.
Obolo shrugged. "As I said, it hardly matters."
For a minute the room was silent. Daulo concentrated on steady breathing, trying to stay calm. Could Jin have lied to him about being the only survivor? No, she wouldn't have done something like that. Whatever was going on—whatever evidence Obolo's men had found or thought they'd found—Jin was in control of the situation. His life, and Akim's, and possibly the entire future of Qasama—all of them were in her hands now.
It was a strangely comforting thought. More strange yet was the complete lack of resentment accompanying it.
There was the sound of an opening door back behind the curtains. This time he resisted the urge to look around at the approaching footsteps; and a minute later Jin and her escort came into his view.
Her appearance was a shock. Hunch-shouldered, almost visibly trembling as she was half led, half dragged toward Obolo, she looked like nothing more than a simple farming girl being hauled toward terrifying matters totally beyond her understanding. It was as if the Jin Moreau he'd come to know had never existed, and for a horrible moment he wondered if they'd gotten to her with one of their drugs.
And then he caught a glimpse of her eyes as she flinched back from Obolo . . .
Unfortunately, Obolo saw it, too. "Your act is amusing but useless, woman," he said, voice dripping with contempt. "I'm perfectly aware you're not a helpless Qasaman female. You many start by telling me who you are."
Slowly, Jin straightened up, the aura of fear dropping away from her like a dark robe. "Not that it's any of your business," she said evenly, "but my name's Jasmine Moreau."
Beside him, Daulo felt Akim react. "You know her?" he murmured.
"We know her family," Akim muttered back. "They are . . . rather deadly."
Daulo glanced up at the guards towering over them. "Good," he murmured.
Akim snorted gently.
Obolo's eyes flicked to Akim, back to Jin. "I recognize the family name from our histories," he told her.
"The family name is important on Aventine, too," Jin returned. "Which means they'll eventually be coming to look for me."
" 'Eventually' is a long time." Obolo's eyes suddenly narrowed. "Where's your accomplice?" he barked at her.
Jin remained unshaken. "Well beyond your reach," she said calmly. "Somewhere on his way to Azras by now, I'd imagine."
"Leaving you—a woman—to die?" Obolo snorted.
"Women die approximately as often as men do," Jin said icily. "Once per customer. I'm ready to take my turn at it if need be. How about you?"
Obolo seemed taken aback, and Daulo fought to hide a grim smile. Obolo's experience, his secret information network, his expanded mental abilities—none of it could have quite prepared him to face someone like Jin Moreau. Possibly for the first time in years, the man was actually flustered.
But he recovered quickly. "My turn at the cup of death will not be for some time," he snarled. "Yours, on the other hand, will be very soon now. If your companion is lurking about Mangus, we'll root him out quickly enough. If instead he's truly run away . . . he'll return far too late to help you."
Abruptly, he turned to look at Daulo and Akim. "Take them to the north chamber," he ordered their guards. "Her as well," he said, gesturing back at Jin. "Chain all three together, where they may share a last half-hour together." His lips curled back in a sardonic smile. "You see, Miron Akim, I keep my word. You will have your chance to interrogate your prisoner. Before she kills you."
Chapter 40
The north chamber turned out to be a cozy corner of the curtain-walled maze that was Obolo's throne room. "Quite a mouse track you have here," Jin commented to Radig as he supervised the chaining of her ankles to Daulo's and Akim's.
"I'll bet someone who knew what he was doing could hide out for hours without being spotted."
Radig threw her a glower. "A feeble attempt, woman. Your companion isn't here."
"You sure?" she asked blandly. The more she could get them chasing each other in circles, the better.
But he just ignored her, and a moment later left with the other guards. Well, it was worth a try, Jin told herself, and turned her attention to Daulo.
To find him glaring bitterly at her. "So," he growled. "It seems Moffren Omnathi was right—you did come here to spy on us. We took you in and healed your wounds . . . and in return for our hospitality you lie to us."
The tirade was totally unexpected, and for an instant she stared at him in confusion. But only for an instant. In her peripheral vision, she could see Akim watching them closely . . . "I'm sorry, Daulo Sammon," she said with cool formality. "I regret having had to deceive your family. If it helps any, I never planned to involve you or anyone else on Qasama with my mission."
"That mission being . . . ?" Akim put in.
"I suppose it doesn't matter anymore if I tell you," she sighed, looking around the curtain walls surrounding them. No sounds of breathing; no body-sized hot spots showing on infrared. Which meant Obolo was relying on more sophisticated electronic methods of listening in on the private moments he'd so graciously granted his prisoners. Smiling grimly to herself, Jin activated her omnidirectional sonic. "My mission," she said quietly, turning back to Akim, "is essentially the same as yours: to stop Obolo Nardin and Mangus."
"Indeed," Akim said coldly. "So once again you reach down from the sky to interfere in matters that are ours alone."
"Can we forget politics for a minute and concentrate on the problem at hand?" Jin growled. "Or don't you understand just what Obolo Nardin's got going here?"
"He's tapping into Qasama's communications network," Akim shrugged.
