The words were barely out of his mouth when the ground below them and the buildings to either side lit up with another, eye-searing blue flash.
And when he looked down again, he saw the smoldering bodies of his fellow Cobras sprawled on the pavement.
For a long minute no one spoke. Then, Poole took a shuddering breath. "Oh, God," he said, very quietly.
With an effort, Lorne turned away from the grisly sight. Across the city to the northeast, another of the Troft ships was flickering with blue light. "Governor, how many Cobras are in the city?" he asked. "Any idea?"
"There are a little over three thousand on Aventine," Treakness said. For once, Lorne noted almost absently, there wasn't a single trace of arrogance or self-importance in the man's voice. "But of course most of them are in the outer provinces. There can't be more than--I don't know. Maybe two or three hundred in Capitalia proper." He hunched his shoulders.
"They didn't let them kill all the spine leopards first," Nissa said quietly, still gazing down through the window.
"What?" Poole asked.
"They didn't let the Cobras kill all of them," she told him, pointing. "There are still five of them alive out there."
"Of course not," Treakness said bitterly. "After all, once they've suckered the Cobras into the open there'll still be the patroller corps to deal with. Broom, we've got to get out of here."
Lorne felt a sudden flash of anger, as bitter and lethal-edged as the Troft lasers. How dare this stupid, pompous fool just casually brush aside the deaths of his comrades down there--men Treakness himself had probably passed at doorways in the Dome's halls a hundred times--as if nothing had happened? "Is that all you can say, Governor?" he snarled, curling his hands into fists and taking a step toward the other.
Treakness held his ground, meeting Lorne's eyes without flinching. "Yes, I know what just happened," he said quietly. "But we can't help them now. Under the circumstances, I don't think we ever could have. What we can do is try to make their sacrifice mean something."
"Like what?" Lorne demanded.
"We have a mission," Treakness said. "An urgent errand that Governor-General Chintawa has ordered us to do." He nodded microscopically toward the window. "There were fifteen spine leopards out there, ready to kill anyone who stepped outside. Now, there are only five. If we're going to go, this is the time to do it."
Lorne took a deep breath, forcing back the anger and the heartache. Treakness was still a fool. But he was also right. "You say we're leaving the city," he said. "Where are we going?"
"There's a Troft freighter waiting at Creeksedge Spaceport," he said. "A Tlossie freighter, to be exact."
"And?"
"And the Tlossies are on our side," Treakness said. "Or at least, they're not against us. The point is, the ship's master has agreed to take me to his demesne-lord to plead our case for assistance."
Lorne felt the first stirrings of hope. The Tlos'khin'fahi Demesne had been one of the Cobra Worlds' best trading partners over the past several decades. If they could be persuaded to come into this--whatever the hell this was--it could make all the difference between defeat and victory.
Unfortunately, the invading Trofts undoubtedly knew that, too. "What if the invaders don't let him leave with you aboard?"
"I think they will," Treakness said. "This particular shipmaster happens to be the demesne-lord's second heir. There's a fairly rigid protocol between demesnes on such matters." His lip twitched. "Especially since if we do it right they won't know we're aboard."
Lorne grimaced. "Which I presume means they don't want to fly over here and pick us up."
"Even if they were willing, we can't risk it," Treakness said. "We'll just have to go to him."
"What's our timing?"
Treakness seemed to brace himself. "Ingidi-inhiliziyo--that's the heir--has given us until tomorrow daybreak," he said. "Otherwise, he says he'll have to lift without us."
"Terrific," Lorne muttered under his breath. Creeksedge was only about twenty kilometers away as the leatherwing flew. Under normal conditions, a reasonably healthy person could probably walk it in four hours.
But conditions here were far from normal. And they weren't likely to get any better anytime soon, either.
He turned and looked out the window, his eyes drifting across the city skyline, his stomach tightening into a hard knot. Forest territory, plains, streams or small lakes--those he understood. He'd lived with that kind of terrain for the past three years, and he could travel those places with the confidence of knowing where the dangers lurked and the knowledge of how to evade or neutralize them.
But this was a city occupied by enemy soldiers and warships. He didn't have the faintest idea how to function here.
"Governor, we're wasting time," Poole murmured urgently.
Treakness ignored him. "Broom?" he asked.
Lorne looked at Nissa and Poole. Both of them were watching him, their faces rigid with fear and helplessness.
And slowly, it occurred to him that whatever uncertainties he was feeling, the other three people in the room had it far worse. They were political creatures, adept at conference room maneuvering and backstage deals, but at their core they were just civilians.
Lorne might not know the techniques of urban evasion and combat, but at least he knew how to fight.
"Like Mr. Poole said, we're wasting time," he said, putting as much confidence into his voice as he could.
"That we are," Treakness said, managing to sound relieved and annoyed at the same time. "Took you long enough. Poole, go get my bags from the bedroom."
"Whoa, whoa," Lorne said as Poole started to leave the room. "What kind of bags? What's in them?"
"The things I need for a trip to the Tlossie demesne world, of course," Treakness said. "Clothing, credentials, papers--"
"Forget 'em," Lorne interrupted. "Everything except the credentials--you can take those."
"What do you mean, forget them?" Treakness said, sounding annoyed again. "You want me to have to explain to a demesne-lord in his own audience hall that I've been wearing the same clothes for the past week?"
"I'd worry more about how you're going to explain to the Trofts right here in Capitalia why you're packed for a long trip," Lorne countered. "You can take your credentials and any food bars or bottled water you have. That's it."
"Fine," Treakness bit out. "Poole, go to the kitchen--there's an emergency bag in the cabinet above the cooker and some bottles of water in the cooler."
"Better split everything into four packs," Lorne added as Poole made for the kitchen. "Nissa, go help him."
"Yes, sir," Nissa said, and followed Poole out of the room.
Leaving Lorne and Treakness alone. "We're bringing her, too?" Treakness asked quietly.
"You were thinking of leaving her here alone?"
"Frankly, yes," Treakness said evenly. "Troft history indicates they don't mistreat their conquered peoples, at least as long as the conquered peoples behave themselves. She could stay here in my apartment--there's plenty of food--and try to ride it out. And you know as well as I do that a party of three will be easier to sneak past Troft sentries than a party of four."
"Why not just make it a party of two, then?" Lorne challenged. "Leave Nissa someone to talk to while she's hunkered down here."
"Poole comes with me," Treakness said firmly. "Bad enough that you won't let me take proper ceremonial clothing. I am not traveling without an assistant. Period."
"Fine," Lorne said with a shrug. "In that case, neither am I."
"Nissa Gendreves isn't your assistant."
"She is now," Lorne said. "If you don't like it, try to remember that this mess is at least partially your fault. If you'd headed directly to Creeksedge the minute North Bank picked up the incoming ships, you could have had your feet up in the Tlossie freighter before the first invaders even landed."
"Believe me, I'd rather have done it that way," Treakness said. "But there was a small fly in the batter." His glare sha
rpened a few degrees. "You."
Lorne frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"You're the son of Jasmine Moreau," Treakness told him. "For whatever ridiculous reason, the Tlossies seem to have been impressed with the Moreau name over the years."
"Have they, now," Lorne said, permitting himself a small smile. "You'll have to send them a copy of the official report on my mother's mission. I'm sure that'll cool any ardor they feel for us."
"I'm not going to argue politics with you, Broom," Treakness growled. "This isn't the time for it. The bottom line is that, for whatever reason, you're high up in the Tlossies' estimation, and Chintawa insisted that you accompany me to their demesne-lord. So we waited for you." He jerked a hand toward the window. "You see the result."
Lorne grimaced. If Chintawa had just said something to Nissa when he'd called her . . . but that was water over the rim now. "Well, we'll just have to do the best we can," he said.
"I suppose we will," Treakness said with just a hint of sarcasm in his voice. "You have a plan?"
"I have the start of one," Lorne said. "This building have an east entrance?"
Treakness nodded. "It opens into the service street."
"That's where we go out, then," Lorne said. "It's out of sight of the warship, and with luck the spinies won't have gotten back there yet. We'll head south for a couple of blocks, by which time we should have some idea of how well they've got the city covered. Hopefully, at that point or shortly thereafter we'll be able to turn west and head toward Creeksedge."
"And the spine leopards?" Treakness asked. "I presume this ship isn't the only one that's released them out into the streets."
"We'll deal with them as necessary," Lorne said. "If the Trofts didn't grab family groups, they should split up as soon as they realize the city's open and start marking off individual territories for themselves. If there are any family groups, unfortunately, they'll probably stick together, at least for now." He gestured toward the east. "And of course, once we're at full daylight, I'll be able to use my lasers out in the open without it being as obvious as it would be right now. Something the Trofts might not have thought about when they planned their attack for dawn."
There was the sound of footsteps, and he turned as Nissa and Poole returned from the kitchen, four belt bags in hand. "We divided up the food and water," Poole said, offering one of his bags to Treakness. "Oh, and we also divided the medical kit from the emergency bag, too. I hope that's all right."
"Of course it's all right," Treakness growled, snatching the belt bag from the other's hand. "Just because Cobra Broom said to take just the food didn't mean you were supposed to turn off your brain."
Poole winced. "Sorry," he muttered.
Lorne suppressed the retort that wanted so badly to come out. If this wasn't the time to talk politics, it also wasn't the time to lecture Treakness about courtesy toward subordinates. "Here's the plan," he said, looking at each of them in turn. "Governor Treakness will take point when we hit the street--he lives here, so he presumably knows this neighborhood best. Nissa, you'll walk behind him to his left; Poole, you'll walk to her right; I'll bring up the rear a little to Poole's right where I can see what's coming from ahead but will also be able to take on anything that comes up from behind. Everyone is to walk as quietly as you can, and no talking unless it's absolutely necessary--I'll need to have my audio enhancers going in order to keep track of what's going on around us. We'll start by heading south, but our ultimate route will depend on the positioning of the Troft ships, the deployment of their troops, and what the spinies decide to do. Got it?"
"Got it," Treakness said for all of them.
"Good," Lorne said. "And from now on, everyone is to call me Lorne, not Cobra Broom." He took a deep breath. "Okay. Let's go."
Chapter Four
The explosions from the direction of Stronghold had faded away into the forest chatterings when Paul called them all back into the aircar for a council of war.
It was, Jody remembered distantly as she closed her door, her parents' favorite term over the years to describe formal family discussions. Never in her life had she imagined that she would ever take part in real council of actual war.
If the expressions on Geoff's and Freylan's faces were any indication, they were thinking the same thing.
"First things first," Paul said when the last door had been sealed. "What we've just heard is real. It wasn't a mistake, a joke, or a misinterpretation. Caelian has been invaded."
"But why?" Geoff asked, his voice barely above a moan. "It doesn't make sense."
"Well, it obviously makes sense to the Troft demesnes involved," Paul pointed out. "Otherwise, they wouldn't have done it. But that's not something we're going to figure out now. Nor should we waste a lot of time on it. Our first task is to consider what we're going to do with the situation we've been handed."
"We have to get out of here," Geoff said tightly. "We have to--well, we have to get out, that's all."
"And go where?" Paul asked. "Running away from something is useless in and of itself, Geoff. You have to run to something."
"There's Aerie," Freylan suggested hesitantly. "It's only fifty kilometers away. Or we could try Essbend. That's one-thirty."
Geoff snorted. "And what, you think the Trofts might have missed them?"
"It's possible," Freylan countered. "At less than five hundred people each, they're certainly small enough. Anyway, what would it hurt to try?"
"Well, for starters, it'll burn a bunch of fuel," Geoff growled. "Not to mention time."
"Actually, I think Freylan's right," Paul said. "Though it's probably more a matter of the Trofts not bothering with the other towns than it is of them having missed seeing them. Unfortunately, wherever we go, it can't be by aircar. As of right now, all travel is strictly on foot."
Geoff stared at him in disbelief. Freylan's face actually paled. "What are you talking about?" Geoff demanded. "I was kidding about the fuel--we've got practically a full tank."
"And any invasion force worth its pay will be watching closely for enemy aircraft," Paul told him. "All enemy aircraft, military or civilian. We get above treetop level, and chances are they'll be right on top of us."
"So we don't go that high," Freylan suggested. "There must be ways to maneuver through the forest instead of going over it."
Geoff hissed contemptuously. "Have you looked out there lately?"
"Unfortunately, Geoff's right," Paul said. "Unless we can fly this thing sideways, we're not getting through any of that."
"Well, we're sure not taking a fifty-kilometer walk," Jody said firmly. "Not through a Caelian forest."
"Agreed," Paul said. "And since those explosions were likely the comm towers being destroyed, we're not going to be calling anyone for help, either."
"Wait a second," Geoff said. "How do you know those were the comm towers?"
"I don't," Paul said. "But it's a fair enough assumption. Trofts don't go in for wholesale slaughter, and there was barely enough time for the town to even notice them, let alone launch some kind of attack that the Trofts might have been reacting to. Given the timing, the first explosion was almost certainly the primary tower, from which it follows that the others were probably the secondary ones."
"The timing?" Geoff asked, sounding bewildered.
"There was a fifteen-second gap between the cutoff of Uy's transmission and the sound of the first explosion," Freylan murmured. "Three seconds per kilometer for the sound to get here. Didn't you ever count seconds after a lightning flash?"
"Right," Paul said. "Which is also why I said earlier that you were probably right about Aerie and Essbend and the other towns not being attacked. The only reason I can think of to destroy the comm system instead of temporarily jamming it is to permanently keep Stronghold from talking to possible allies. No reason to waste perfectly good explosives on the towers if those allies are also pinned down."
"So our job is to hang tough and see if the other towns got Uy's message
and are able to do something about it?" Jody asked.
"That's one option." Her father cocked an eyebrow. "The other would be to see whether we can do something about it ourselves."
Geoff's eyes widened. "You're joking. Us?"
"Why not?" Paul countered calmly. "Most of their attention's going to be focused on Stronghold, not out here."
Geoff shook his head disbelievingly. "You're not joking, you're insane. Look, I know you Cobras are supposed to be real hotshots at this sort of thing, but come on."
"It can't hurt to go back and poke around a little," Jody offered, trying hard to match her father's outward composure. Her skin was crawling at the thought of deliberately walking into enemy territory, but there was no way she was going to let Geoff and Freylan know that. "Anyway, if we get caught, as long as we don't make threatening moves the Trofts will probably just put us in the town with everyone else."
Freylan whistled softly. "Insanity must run in your family."
"Very possibly," Paul conceded. "I'm open to other suggestions."
"Well, I'm not going," Geoff said flatly. "You three want to play hero, go right ahead. But I didn't sign up for any suicide missions."
For a moment the aircar was silent. Then Freylan stirred. "That's fine," he said. "You can stay here. Just make sure you cook that gigger all the way through or you might end up with parasites."
Geoff frowned at him. "What are you talking about? There's a full survival kit back there with a couple dozen ration bars."
"Thirty, actually," Freylan said. "But we're going to be on the move, and won't have time for hunting or cooking. Certainly not that close to the Trofts." He waved a hand around them. "You, on the other hand, will have the time and the distance and the trap. Perfect conditions for living off the land."
"You can't be serious," Geoff protested. "You want me to leave the aircar? Alone?"
"Why not?" Freylan said coolly. "We're going to."
"But not alone," Geoff said, his voice taking on an edge of pleading. "You can't expect me to--" He shot a hooded look at Jody. "Jody, tell him."