by Timothy Zahn
Though at this point a hand weapon would be pretty redundant. The Marine was wearing a Dominion combat suit, complete with the epaulets whose multiple auto-targeting lasers Jody had seen demonstrated back on Caelian. Those lasers could take out Rashida, Smitty, and Jody herself if the Marine chose: quickly, efficiently, and without the man himself having to move a muscle.
She was two steps in from the curve before the Marine seemed to recover from his surprise at his unexpected company. “Halt!” he snapped.
“Please,” Jody said, trying for a tone of dignified pleading as she obediently came to a stop. “Please. Can’t you see she’s terrified?”
“As long as your Cobras keep their distance she’s got nothing to worry about,” the Marine said, his eyes flicking back and forth between Jody and Smitty.
“She’s a Qasaman,” Jody said, enunciating her words carefully. “More than that, she’s a Qasaman woman. They’re not used to this kind of thing.”
“I thought they just went through a war.”
“Not the women,” Jody said, watching his face carefully. If she could get him to hook onto the Dominion cultural ethos that saw women as having limited capabilities and subservient societal roles, maybe she could make this work. “If you let her go, I’ll take her place.”
“Yeah, right,” the Marine scoffed. “I’m supposed to believe this was your idea? That the Cobras are just offering the great Jody Moreau Broom up as a sacrificial lamb?”
“What sacrifice?” Jody countered. “You said there wouldn’t be any trouble as long as no one attacked you.”
“Don’t play cute,” the Marine growled. “I know damn well that you’re planning a—”
And in the middle of his sentence Rashida grabbed the arm pressed against her throat, jabbed her right heel down on the Marine’s foot, bent her left knee to bring her left heel up against the wall between his thighs, then straightened the knee and sent them both toppling forward. Before the Marine could move his free foot to try to break their fall, an invisible wall seemed to slam across Jody’s body, blurring her vision and tilting the universe violently around her. Rashida and the Marine continued their face-first fall—
They were a fraction of a second from impact when a faint flash of current arced from the stunner in Smitty’s right little finger to the top of the Marine’s head. Rashida landed hard on the deck, the Marine slamming down on top of her.
And as they hit the deck, a small handgun went skittering across the deck from the unconscious Marine’s hand.
“Clear!” Smitty barked, scrambling to his feet. Grabbing the Marine’s arm, he flipped his unconscious form off Rashida and dropped to one knee beside her. “Rashida?” he asked anxiously, reaching a hand to her cheek.
“I’m all right,” Rashida said, sounding a little winded as she pushed herself up, glancing over as Kemp and Nisti charged around the corner. “He’s heavier than he looks.”
“Probably the combat gear,” Smitty grunted, shifting his hand to her upper arm. “Let’s get you to sickbay and make sure he didn’t crack any of your ribs.”
“I don’t think he did,” Rashida said again, wincing a bit as he helped her to her feet. “We also need to go there to have your eyes looked at.”
“Afraid that’ll have to wait,” Kemp said as he and Nisti knelt beside the unconscious Marine and began carefully removing the tunic with its lethal epaulets. “We think this was a diversion to keep us occupied so the Marine in the other gunbay could do something in there, possibly messing with one of our flight systems. Rashida, you need to get to CoNCH right away and see what’s going on.”
“Understood,” Omnathi said. “Djinni Nisti, escort her to CoNCH.”
“Yes, Your Excellency.” Scooping up the handgun and tucking it into his belt, Nisti took Rashida’s other arm, and the three of them disappeared around the corridor curve.
“Okay, he’s disarmed,” Kemp announced, and Jody turned around again to see him carefully folding up the Marine’s tunic. “What would you like me to do with him, Your Excellency?”
“I’m told there is a compartment aboard with reversed locks where Jody Moreau was kept prisoner while on Caelian,” Omnathi said, regarding the Marine thoughtfully. “Will that serve?”
“It should, Your Excellency,” Kemp confirmed, getting a grip under the Marine’s arms and hauling him upright. “Jody, come show me where it is, will you?”
It took two minutes for Jody to lead Kemp to the makeshift prison where she’d spent two glorious days before the Qasamans had broken in and freed her. Kemp spent another ten minutes going through the cabin and removing everything the Marine could conceivably use as a weapon or for escape once he woke up. Only then was he willing to leave the unconscious man alone.
They reached CoNCH to find Rashida and Smitty at the control consoles, Omnathi standing silent watch behind them. “Prisoner is secured, Your Excellency,” Kemp murmured as they came up behind the older man.
Omnathi nodded acknowledgment. “Cobra Smith?” he prompted.
“I think we got it in time, Your Excellency,” Smitty said. “Rashida’s double-checking, but I think we stopped him.”
“What was he doing?” Jody asked.
“Trying to change our course back to Aventine and then lock down the helm,” Smitty said grimly. “He got most of the first part keyed in, but luckily he hadn’t gotten to the second yet. Rashida’s got us back on our original course, and I think we’ve got him locked out. At least for now.”
“Do we know where the control cables come into CoNCH?” Kemp asked. “If we can cut them, that should end it for good.”
“It should,” Smitty agreed. “Except that we don’t know if they even come in here.”
“They shouldn’t,” Omnathi said. “A system meant for use in the event of disaster in CoNCH should have entirely separate control lines.”
“Yes, of course they should,” Kemp said, sounding disgusted with himself. “Sorry—wasn’t thinking.”
“Luckily, I don’t think he knows a lot more about the nav system than we do,” Smitty said. “I’m guessing you’d normally man each gunbay with a gunner and a spotter who doubles as your emergency control tech. It looks like Tamu only had time to get the gunners in place.”
“The one we caught was certainly a Marine,” Jody said. “Let’s just hope the man in the other gunbay isn’t a control tech.”
“He isn’t,” Omnathi assured her. “If so, he would have made this move much earlier. Most likely immediately after we came aboard, when we ourselves had only limited knowledge of the vessel. Since it has apparently taken this long for him to read and understand the operational manual, it is clear he’s also a warrior.”
“Yes, that makes sense,” Jody said, feeling her face warming. Like Kemp, she hadn’t thought her comment all the way through before opening her mouth.
Still, Omnathi was probably used to that. He was roughly the same age as Jody’s mother Jin, but his physical condition was that of a man a decade or two older than that. A lifetime of mind-enhancing drugs had made him one of Qasama’s best strategists, but that brilliance had come at a severe cost.
Ghushtre had promised that the drugs Jody would be taking to speed up her Cobra training were of a much milder variety. Still, they were from the same chemical class as the ones that had taken their toll on Omnathi.
Firmly, Jody put it out of her mind. There were more than enough things to worry about right now without dragging in future ones.
“Is the threat now neutralized?” Omnathi asked. “Rashida Vil?”
“A moment.” Rashida made a final handful of keystrokes and then peered at one of the displays. “Yes, Your Excellency.”
“Good,” Omnathi said. “Now perhaps you will explain to me how it is you’re still alive.”
Rashida stiffened. “I don’t understand, Your Excellency.”
“The Marine had a weapon held against your back,” Omnathi said. “You attacked him, yet he did not fire. Explain.”
>
“I cannot,” Rashida said. “Perhaps the confusion of Cobra Smith’s sonic blast put it from his mind.”
“Such an attack should have been even more likely to prompt a counterattack.” Omnathi shifted his eyes to Jody. “Jody Moreau? Have you an explanation.”
“I don’t know, either,” Jody said. “But it’s likely that the Dominion of Man trains its soldiers to defend its women. In the quickness and confusion of the moment that instinct of protection may have overridden other considerations.”
“Sounds good to me,” Kemp seconded. “You were taking a hell of a risk, though, Smitty. Even without the sonic he could have fried all three of you before he even hit the deck.”
“You want to argue, argue with Rashida,” Smitty said. “It was her plan and timing.”
Jody frowned. “Her plan?”
“Well, it’s not like I could say anything, not with Dogbreath staring right at me,” Smitty pointed out. “Rashida came up with the plan and mouthed it to me in between all those weepings and wailings.”
“Except for the stun-lightning at the end,” Rashida said. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
“Right, that one was mine,” Smitty confirmed. “She’d already pointed out that once he was lying flat on the deck with the top of his epaulets toward me I’d be out of range of his lasers. But she would still be in range, and I wanted to make sure he didn’t take a grudge shot.”
“He is still alive, isn’t he?” Rashida asked hesitantly. “I asked Smitty to keep him alive if possible.”
“Yes, he’s fine,” Kemp said. “Stunner head shots can be risky, but he survived it. Though if it was a choice between you and him, I’d have let him croak, too.”
“Thank you,” Rashida murmured.
“And with the vessel again under our control,” Omnathi said, “you and Cobra Smith will go to the sickbay to be examined.”
“Yes, Your Excellency,” Rashida said, giving the sign of respect as she stood up.
“Yes, Your Excellency,” Smitty echoed, also standing up and fumbling briefly before he could get a grip on the back of his chair.
Omnathi gestured. “Jody Moreau, you will accompany them.”
“Yes, Your Excellency,” Jody said. “A thought first, though, if I may. Now that we have access to the portside gunbay, we may be able to locate the control cables coming from there and maybe track them to wherever they end up. That might give us a clue to where the ones from the starboard bay come in, and cut them at that end.”
“Good idea,” Kemp said, nodding. “With your permission, Your Excellency, I’ll get started on that.”
“Agreed, Cobra Kemp,” Omnathi said. “We shall begin the investigation immediately. Well done, Jody Moreau.”
“Thank you, Your Excellency.” Jody touched Smitty’s arm as he and Rashida passed her. “Which of you needs me the most?”
“I do,” Smitty said. “Rashida is breathing okay again, so she was probably just winded. You can take my other arm and make sure she doesn’t steer my shins into anything. I never noticed what lousy peripheral vision these optical enhancements have.”
“You got it,” Jody assured him. “Okay Rashida: in step. Left, right, left…”
CHAPTER SIX
After a boyhood filled with the excitement and drama of adventure tales, Paul found the MindsEye room to be something of a disappointment.
He’d expected it to be dark and gloomy, with subdued lights blinking ominously from black consoles; or else pure white, gleaming with chrome and clean ceramic, the lair of a pathologically germophobic mad scientist. But it was neither. It was simply a normal-looking compartment off the Algonquin’s sickbay recovery room, its walls and ceiling the same soothing blue as the room where the ship’s chief medical officer had given him a quick exam and certified him fit for the procedure.
“Let me explain how this is going to work,” Captain Lij Tulu said, standing between and half a step behind a pair of combat-suited Marines as the med techs strapped Paul into a heavily-padded chair at the center point of three wall-to-ceiling pillars. “We’ll start by mapping your entire brain on a cellular and electro-biological level. Once we have our baseline, we’ll ask you some questions to identify and mark the sections of memory we’re most interested in. After that, we’ll start sifting through those regions and look for the specific memories we need.”
He smiled, a snake’s smile. “If we’re lucky, we’ll find the visual image of that navigational display and get Qasama’s coordinates on the first pass. If not, we’ll keep at it until we’ve looked at everything.”
“You’re wasting your time,” Paul said, trying to filter the dread out of his voice. Commodore Santores had assured him that the MindsEye was perfectly safe as long as it was handled properly. He’d also added his personal guarantee that Lij Tulu would take every precaution to protect him.
All of which made perfect sense, of course. Santores desperately wanted Qasama’s location, and the commodore would hardly risk damaging one of the only two people on Aventine who might hold that information.
There was just one small flaw in everybody’s logic. As far as Paul could tell, no one had ever tried the MindsEye on a Cobra before.
The device had never been used on someone with a layer of tough ceramic laminae on the skull bones. It had never been tried on someone with a network of optronic equipment jacked into the brain from the ears and eye sockets.
It especially hadn’t been tried on someone with a nanocomputer implanted under his brain. A nanocomputer whose designers had very much not wanted their toy attacked, neutralized, reprogrammed, removed, or in any other way messed with.
They’d not wanted it so much, in fact, that they’d put in some nasty safeguards to make sure none of that happened.
“Last chance to be reasonable,” Lij Tulu said as the techs finished and stepped away from the chair. “Tell me where Qasama is and you’ll be sleeping in your own bed tonight.”
“I don’t know where it is,” Paul said, looking him straight in the eye.
“Maybe,” Lij Tulu said with a shrug. “Maybe not.” He gestured to the man seated at the main control board. “Let’s find out together.”
Paul closed his eyes, feeling a wan smile tweaking at the corners of his lips. Some very nasty safeguards…and Paul himself had no idea what those safeguards were. Or what it took to trigger them.
That, too, was something they would all find out together.
#
The Deuel Center had started life as a Cobra way station some twenty years earlier, a place for storing supplies and equipment where local scavengers couldn’t get at them. But as the DeVegas province population grew and other stations were established, the center had been abandoned. It had been subsequently bought by a local naturalist, renamed for her late husband, and set up as a nature observation post for local biology and ecology students.
It was rarely used outside of daylight hours, which made it ideal for a late-night rendezvous. More importantly, from Lorne’s point of view, the fact that it had been closed and unoccupied for the past few hours meant that the day’s residual heat had long since dissipated, which meant that anyone skulking inside would stand out like a torch on Lorne’s infrareds.
But the place was as dark on IR as it was in the enhanced starlight of his light-amplifiers. If Colonel Reivaro had learned about Lorne’s clandestine meeting, he was at least smart enough to pass over the obvious ambush locale.
Lying among the reeds near the river’s edge, Lorne took a moment to check his nanocomputer’s clock circuit. It was three minutes to one.
He eased a little closer to the rippling water, keeping one eye on the sky and the other on the riverbank. Spine leopards also liked to establish way stations along rivers, and while most of them preferred to hunt in the daytime it wasn’t at all unheard of for one of them to awaken with an appetite and go on the prowl for a snack. It would be highly embarrassing if one of the predators nailed him before Reivaro even had a chance at
his shot.
One o’clock came and went. Kicker was now officially late, assuming Lorne had interpreted the message correctly. Still, there were plenty of innocuous reasons why the other Cobra might have been delayed. Lorne would give him another half hour before moving on to other options.
It was seventeen minutes after one when the diffuse glow of distant headlights appeared among the trees to the north. Lorne notched up his audios, and a moment later picked up the faint sound of an approaching car. He did a quick estimate of the vehicle’s intercept time, then sent a slow careful look around. An approaching vehicle was the classic diversion, and he had no intention of getting caught that easily.
No trap had been sprung by the time the vehicle emerged from the scattered thickets about two hundred fifty meters away. It was hard to identify through the glare of the headlights, but it looked and sounded like a pretty standard Cobra patrol car. It continued on for another fifty meters or so, then rolled to a stop. A figure climbed out, even harder to make out in the headlight shadows than the vehicle itself. The figure took a few steps toward the river.
And there was a flash of light behind the headlights as a flicker of laser fire shot toward the riverbank.
Lorne tensed, pressing himself closer to the ground. The laser fired again, paused, then fired a third time. Probably a Cobra, but Dominion Marines used lasers, too. Easing his head up a few centimeters, Lorne searched the target area, trying to figure out what the shooter was firing at.
Nothing. Notching up his opticals’ light-amp level, he let his eyes continue on, sweeping the entire riverbank. His gaze reached the section directly across the river—
He froze. Crouched beside a gnarled tree on the far bank was a second figure, whose approach Lorne had missed entirely. Feeling his heartbeat suddenly speed up, he keyed in his telescopics.
It wasn’t Kicker. But it was another familiar face: Dushan Matavuli, one of the biggest ranchers in this part of the province. More importantly, a man who’d actively helped Lorne’s fellow Cobras, especially his friends Dillon de Portola and Badger Werle, during their guerrilla war against the occupying Trofts.
