Cobra Outlaw - eARC

  “Okay,” Merrick said, keying his infrareds as he sat down on a log facing the other. Troft facial blood flow didn’t reflect emotional changes nearly as much as it did in humans, but the aliens’ radiator membranes should more than make up for it. “Let’s start with what happened on the crashed ship. You said there was a fight, and that you hid from it. I didn’t think about it at the time, but the fact that the locals weren’t still hunting for you implied that they thought they’d gotten everyone, which implies in turn that they didn’t know you were even there. You were a stowaway, weren’t you?”

  Kjoic’s membranes fluttered, and Merrick’s opticals spotted the brief surge of heat flow there. “Very good,” the Troft said. “Unfortunately, I was discovered as we approached Muninn.”

  “And so you killed all of them?”

  “Yes,” Kjoic said simply. “It was necessary.”

  Merrick shivered. The very casualness of that admission, combined with the businesslike way he’d dealt with the four back at Alexis’s house clearly showed that he was no stranger to violence. “So who are you? What’s on Muninn that’s worth killing for?”

  Kjoic waved a hand back toward Svipall. “You’ve already seen it,” he said. “The testing and the chemical studies taking place in Svipall could be vital to the fortunes of the war.”

  “You’re a bit behind the times,” Merrick said. “The war’s over.”

  “Not the war against the unimportant human worlds at this side of the Assemblage,” Kjoic said, a hint of contempt in his voice. “That action was ill-advised and pointless. I speak of the war currently being waged against the Dominion of Man.”

  Merrick felt his throat tighten. So there was a new war on the far side of the Troft Assemblage. He and his mother had speculated about that at the very beginning of the Qasaman invasion, but at the time it had been pure guesswork. Now, it was confirmed. “I don’t know anything about that,” he said.

  “Perhaps,” Kjoic said, eyeing him closely, his membranes fluttering a bit more. “Perhaps not. But I will not pry into your origin or the world you call home. What is important is that we both seek information on the chemical that the Drim’hco’plai are creating.”

  “I don’t know anything about that, either,” Merrick said.

  “You know more than you say,” Kjoic countered. “Perhaps more than you realize. Allow me to tell what I know. The Drim’hco’plai were one of the demesnes who sought to subdue and conquer the nearby human worlds. They now claim to have created a weapon that will permit final Troft victory in the war against the Dominion. This—” he gestured again toward Svipall “—is where I believe they have created it.”

  “Did they say how it’s supposed to work?”

  “They claim it will turn humans against each other,” Kjoic said. “Creating treason and betrayal in the very midst of the human forces.”

  “Very poetic,” Merrick said. “Also a little far-fetched.”

  “I agree,” Kjoic agreed. “But the question is not whether the concept seems likely. The question is whether it is, in fact, true.”

  “Yes,” Merrick murmured. On the face of it, the whole thing was ridiculous.

  And yet…

  He’d seen the power of the bersark plant. He’d seen the strength and near-invulnerability of the jormungand snakes. He’d seen at least one example—bersarkis—of the Muninn natives taking the exotic natural chemicals they were living among and turning them into equally exotic drugs.

  And he’d seen Dyre, who’d been fully aware that protecting Merrick was also protecting his betrothed Anya, calmly and loudly betray him to the Trofts.

  Was that what Red Patch was? Some sort of loyalty-conditioning drug?

  “The razorarms,” he murmured.

  “Pardon?” Kjoic asked.

  “I was just thinking about the razorarms of Qasama,” Merrick said slowly, trying to sort out the odd thought that had suddenly jumped across his mind. “Big predators with symbiotic links to birds called mojos. The mojos are mildly telepathic and act as controllers for the razorarms’ behavior, guiding them toward prey and away from danger. All through the invasion the Drims were snatching razorarms from the human areas, despite the fact that the Qasamans routinely shot down their collector aircraft. We could never figure out why the Trofts were risking that kind of trouble, especially when the whole planet was full of the things for the taking.”

  “And you now know the reason?”

  “Maybe,” Merrick said. “The mojos adjust the razorarms’ thinking—what there is of it—as they modify their behavior. Maybe the Drim were taking razorarms from both settled and unsettled regions in hopes of finding differences in their brain chemistry.”

  “Searching for how and where the conditioning has taken place,” Kjoic said thoughtfully. “Interesting. Such large and dangerous predators, are they also on the human world of Caelian?”

  “No razorarms, but lots of other nasties,” Merrick said. “Were the Drims taking animals from there, too?”

  “That world was certainly invaded,” Kjoic said. “Whether they had specific target creatures in mind, or were simply seeking possibilities, I have no knowledge. But this is indeed a promising beginning to our enquiries.” He stood up. “Let us add more distance from our common enemy while we decide our next course of action.”

  “I have a question,” Merrick said, not moving from his own seat. “I’m a human. My reason for wanting to stop the Drims are obvious. What about you?”

  Kjoic’s membranes stretched out for a moment, then sagged again. “I am an agent of the Kriel’laa’misar demesne,” he said. “It is my demesne-lord to whom the Drim’hco’plai are endeavoring to sell this weapon.”

  Merrick blinked. “Wait a minute. They’re giving it to you? Then why in the Worlds are you even here?”

  “Is it not obvious?” Kjoic asked. “The Drim’hco’plai are asking a large sum of money for their weapon. Is it not well worth our time and effort to steal it instead?”

  Merrick stared at him. The rivalry between Troft demesnes was legendary; but for one ally in the midst of a war to straight-up steal valuable technology from another was insane.

  But at the same time it had the ring of truth to it. “So when you suggest we work together, you mean only until we have the weapon.”

  The membranes flared. “The truth, you speak it,” Kjoic conceded. “But consider that neither of us is likely to achieve the goal alone.”

  “So we hold off trying to kill each other until we have the drug?”

  “It may not come to killing,” Kjoic said. “But it will certainly come to victory for one and defeat for the other.” He cocked his head in a very human gesture. “Have we an alliance?”

  It was crazy, Merrick knew. Crazy, and with a very good chance of getting him killed.

  But Kjoic was right. Merrick couldn’t do this on his own. He needed allies and assistance, and with Anya and Ludolf vanished into the night, Kjoic was the only ally he had. “Common goal,” he said.

  “Common goal,” Kjoic agreed. “Now, let us be off.”

  “You have a destination in mind?” Merrick said, standing up.

  “I do.” The Troft slung the laser rifle over his shoulder, maneuvering it carefully around the radiator membrane there. Then, with only a slight hesitation, he drew his smaller laser from its holster and tossed it, grip-first, to Merrick. “You may need this. Follow, and be silent.”

  He turned and set off again, heading away from Svipall. Shoving the laser into his belt, Merrick followed.

  Victory for one, Kjoic had said. Defeat for another.

  Kjoic was a special agent, probably trained in espionage, certainly trained in violence. Merrick wasn’t trained in either.

  But he was a Cobra.

  Only Kjoic didn’t know that.

  Victory for one. Defeat for another.

  This was, Merrick had already realized, going to be dangerous.

  It was also going to be very interesting.

&nb
sp; CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Kemp and Smitty were waiting at the Squire when Jody arrived. So, to Jody’s surprise, was Rashida Vil.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked, giving the woman a quick hug. “Not that I’m not delighted to see you. But Smitty said you were in Sollas.”

  “You didn’t think I would drop all other matters and rush to my friends at their need?” Rashida asked with a tight smile. “Smitty called and said we would be leaving tonight.” She looked at him. “And though I believe him completely capable of flying this craft, it is always wise to have a second pilot.”

  “Absolutely,” Smitty agreed. “Just so long as it’s clear that I’m the second pilot and you’re the first. I’m more worried about you getting flak from Omnathi or the other Shahni for cutting out on them.”

  “There is no such danger,” Rashida assured him. “My task was complete. And remember, Shahni Omnathi has already given us permission to take the Squire and leave.”

  “Let’s hope the Dorian is also still on board with that,” Kemp said grimly. “I presume we’re not going to be overly blatant about our departure?”

  “We’re going to be blatant like field mice are blatant,” Jody confirmed. “We’ll wait until the Dorian is over the horizon, then scurry out along a course that keeps us out of their sight as long as possible.” She looked at Rashida. “I presume you can set up something like that.”

  Rashida nodded. “Of course.”

  “Then let’s do it,” Kemp said. “Smitty’s got the systems up and running. Time to blow this fruit stand.”

  “Right,” Jody said.

  And hope that Captain Moreau hadn’t spotted Lieutenant Meekan’s authorization and rescinded it. If he had, this was going to be a very short, and very unpleasant flight.

  #

  “There,” Garrett said, pointing at the display.

  “I see it,” Barrington said, gazing at the departing Squire with a mix of anticipation, sadness, and guilt.

  Jody Broom wasn’t going to find her brother. That much he was certain of. The odds were overwhelming that Merrick Broom had died on Qasama, probably out in the forest where no one would likely ever find his body. For Jody, this was a fool’s errand, with nothing but heartache and loss waiting at the end.

  And, if she lived through it, probably the feeling that came of deliberately been used.

  Meekan had played his hand perfectly. He had pretended to take the decision out of Barrington’s hands in the midst of Kusari’s disapproval, even as Barrington and Garrett monitored and guided the entire conversation through the data stream. So caught up in her victory had Jody been, in fact, that she’d never even wondered why no backups had charged in on them after she and her Cobra friends had neutralized Kusari’s guard.

  And now, there they were. Heading off as quickly and unobtrusively as they could, no doubt half expecting the Dorian to open fire and blow them out of the sky.

  No, they wouldn’t find Jody’s brother. What they would do was bring a sudden and unexpected Dominion presence to the attention of a brand-new group of Trofts. Possibly this mysterious Kriel’laa’misar demesne; possibly someone else entirely.

  But who exactly they found didn’t really matter. Commodore Santores’s orders were to draw out the Trofts currently at war with the Dominion, to make noise and fury and to lure them into an ambush, either at the Cobra Worlds or at Qasama. Jody and her friends were simply doing their part toward that end.

  Barrington hoped she would survive the trials ahead. He really did. She was much too young to die such a bitter death, especially when she wouldn’t even know how her death would serve all of humanity.

  But whether she lived or died wasn’t in his power to decide. Until his men were all healed and safely back aboard, the Dorian would be unable to follow to the coordinates she’d given them.

  Maybe not even then. Barrington had other responsibilities, not the least of which was to persuade the Qasamans to let Santores make them into the lure that he needed.

  And if that task proved easier than expected, there was still Aventine to worry about. Things back there hadn’t been going very smoothly when the Dorian left, and the more recent news that the Hermes had brought had been even less encouraging. Once Barrington got things rolling on Qasama, he should probably take the Dorian head back to the Cobra Worlds.

  Still, while Aventine was a concern, it was probably not a genuine worry. Santores was in command there, and the commodore was quite capable of diplomacy and the soothing of ruffled feathers. There was nothing the Cobra Worlds could throw at him that he couldn’t handle.

  #

  Paul looked across the command station at Commodore Santores. Commodore Santores looked back, and for a long moment the two men held that pose. Then, slowly, Santores seemed to come back to life. “Would you please repeat that, Governor Uy?” he said toward his microphone.

  “If you feel it necessary,” Uy’s voice came from the station’s speaker. Not the entire speaker system, Paul noted absently, where his words would be out the open for the entire CoNCH to hear. Santores had opened this communication with Caelian with the intention of keeping the discussion private, at least in the initial stages.

  He was, Paul thought, probably very glad he had.

  “And I quote,” Uy said. “After due consideration of the proper direction of Caelian’s future, taking into account the actions of Lieutenant Commander Tamu and the crew of the Squire, and further taking into account the attitude of other world governments toward us—” he paused, possibly for dramatic purposes, more likely for a breath “—the government of Caelian has voted unanimously to terminate our ties to the Cobra Worlds and the Dominion of Man and to unite instead with the people and government of Qasama. Will you require a third reading, Commodore Santores?”

  “No, thank you,” Santores said, his face rigid, his eyes starting to flash fire. “I must inform you, Governor, that your words and declaration amount to treason against the Dominion of Man. In such cases, there are specific protocols that must be followed.”

  “I’m sure you’ll do whatever your orders require,” Uy said. “Just be certain that they’re only what your orders require.”

  “That sounds rather like a threat, Governor.”

  “If you think a planet of five thousand people can be a serious threat, Commodore, the Dominion is in worse shape than I thought,” Uy said, a bit dryly. “Regardless, there’s no need to respond now. I can wait to hear your comments once you’ve had time to examine your orders and protocols. And as I stated earlier, you’re more than welcome to come down in person for a face-to-face discussion.”

  “Thank you, Governor,” Santores said stiffly. “I’ll consider it. Megalith out.” He jabbed a finger at the control, and the indicator light went out.

  For a long moment he stared at the main display across the room. Then, abruptly, he turned to Paul. “Well?” he demanded.

  “Well, what?” Paul said. “The Caelians have always been a stubborn lot. They’ve also always felt that they were ignored, disliked, or marginalized. Obviously, something has pushed them past the breaking point.”

  “But Qasama?”

  Paul shrugged, a slightly awkward gesture now that his servos no longer functioned. “A small group of Qasamans came to their aid during the Troft invasion. Uy returned the favor by sending Isis to Qasama, which ultimately brought the war to an end. I’d say both worlds have finally found the respect and understanding that neither of them has ever had before.”

  Santores snorted. “He can’t possibly believe this will work.”

  “I’d say that depends largely on you,” Paul said. “What are you going to say to him?”

  Santores scowled back at the display. “I don’t know,” he said, the fire fading from his eyes. “I told him there were protocols for this. In fact, there aren’t. Nothing I’ve ever read, nothing I’ve ever explored in a war-game session, has ever touched even remotely on this situation. I’m going to have to research
my options. Carefully, and very thoroughly.”

  “And until you have a plan?” Paul asked. “Do we return to Aventine?”

  “No,” Santores said flatly. “The Dominion needs to maintain a presence here. If we’re lucky, Uy and his people will realize they can’t possibly win and take a long step backward.”

  Paul nodded. He could hope that, too. But he didn’t expect it to happen. He didn’t know the Caelians all that well; but from what he had seen, he knew they didn’t draw lines in the sand casually. “What about Aventine?” he asked.

  “What about it?”

  “It’s having some serious drama of its own,” Paul reminded him. “I’d feel better if you checked back on it while you sort out the Dominion response to Caelian. It’s not like Uy or those five thousand people are going anywhere.”

  “We stay,” Santores said firmly. “And don’t worry about Aventine. Captain Lij Tulu is more than capable of handling matters there.”

  #

  The news report came in while Lorne, Werle, and de Portola were still driving toward Capitalia. “As of oh-one-hundred-hours this morning,” the emotionless voice came over the car’s speakers, “the planet of Aventine is hereby declared to be under martial law. Dominion forces under the direction of Captain Lij Tulu are moving to secure all government offices, strongpoints, and vital services. Citizens are instructed to remain calm and listen for official news and information. Questions by government officials should be directed to the Dome in Capitalia.”

  Werle turned off the radio and turned to Lorne. “Well,” he said. “What do you think of that?”

  Lorne took a deep breath. “I think,” he said, “that the war has now begun.

  “I also think the Dominion is going to be very, very sorry they started it.”

  The End

 

 

  Timothy Zahn, Cobra Outlaw - eARC

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