Cobra Outlaw

  “I’m certain he’ll be making all the preparations he can,” the commodore said. “But all that will accomplish will be to make the psychological slap that much harder when we sweep those defenses away.”

  “Yes, sir.” To Paul’s mind, Lij Tulu didn’t sound completely convinced. But it was possible his ears were playing tricks on him. Or whatever it was—ears or something else—that was picking up this conversation.

  “Meanwhile, the Hermes is on its way to rendezvous with the Dorian,” the commodore continued. “We’ll see if Ukuthi’s coordinates are worth anything. If not, he and the Balin demesne may need a psychological slap of their own.”

  “The Algonquin stands ready for that, as well, sir.” Lij Tulu paused. “If I may ask a question, Commodore?”

  “Certainly.”

  “Why exactly did you come across to see me, sir? This could all have been handled via comm.”

  “Up to now, yes, it could have,” the commodore agreed. “We now get to two points that couldn’t. Two points, Captain, which you’re to keep strictly to yourself for the present. Point one: if we haven’t located Qasama within the next thirty days, I intend to revert to the original plan.”

  “To use Aventine as bait?”

  “Not quite,” the commodore said. “Instead of Aventine, we’ll be setting the dummy base on Caelian.”

  There was a soft hissing noise. “I don’t think Governor Uy will think much of that idea.”

  “I’m certain he won’t,” the commodore agreed. “And if he reacts as badly as I’m expecting . . . well, let’s just hope he’s willing to see reason. Your engineers are already slated to create the necessary installations. I came here to tell you that, with Colonel Reivaro tied up with the Aventinian Cobras, it’ll be your Marines who’ll be tasked with suppressing any Caelian opposition.”

  “After more talking, I presume?”

  “Not this time,” the commodore said grimly. “The thirty days I’m allowing for the Qasama discovery represents all of the time the plan authorizes for diplomacy and persuasion. All of it. If we use up those days and come up empty, the next visit to Caelian will be the start of the building process.”

  “Understood, sir,” Lij Tulu said. “Though I presume it can’t look that way?”

  “Correct,” the commodore said. “Your Marines will need to create the same sort of situation Santores engineered in Archway. Whatever ultimately happens out here, we’ll need to be able to present the Dome with unequivocal proof that we acted in strict accordance with Dominion law.”

  “Don’t worry, sir,” Lij Tulu said. “I know how to handle it.”

  “Good,” the commodore said. “Then to my final point. I promised Governor-General Chintawa that I would protect Cobra Broom as best I could against any MindsEye side effects. With the Dorian gone, the timeline ticking down, and Caelian having suddenly become a giant question mark, I can no longer afford to keep that promise. Whatever you need to do in order to dig out Broom’s memories . . .” He left the sentence unfinished.

  “Understood, sir,” Lij Tulu said. “If Qasama’s coordinates are in there, we’ll find them.”

  “Good,” the commodore said. “Carry on, Captain.”

  “Yes, sir,” Lij Tulu said. “Thank you, Commodore.”

  The conversation had been important, Paul decided as the silence again flowed over him. But how it was important, and what the full implications of it might be, he found himself unable to pin down.

  But he would continue to mull at it, and sooner or later he would figure it out.

  And, really, he had plenty of time.

  * * *

  “Corwin? Corwin!”

  Corwin Moreau froze at his basement workbench, his chest tightening as he looked across the basement toward the stairway leading up into the main part of the house. He knew his wife’s tones of voice better than he did his own. And the tension he could hear there . . . “Down here, Thena!” he called back. Carefully, he laid the piece of experimental ceramic he’d been working on back into its mold.

  And then, reaching beneath the workbench, he slid the hidden handgun from its holster.

  “Stay there,” Thena called. “We’re coming to you.”

  We. Taking a deep breath, Corwin thumbed off the gun’s safety. For the past four days, ever since the Archway massacre, he’d been expecting just such a late-evening visitation. The only question had been whether the intruders would be Chintawa’s people or Dominion Marines.

  Either way, he intended to be ready.

  The footsteps above him tracked across to the stairway and became footsteps on the stairs. Keeping the gun out of sight beneath the workbench, he lined up the muzzle on the base of the stairway.

  Thena appeared first, her legs recognizable from the slacks he knew she was wearing this evening. There was a single person behind her, the shoes indicating that the visitor was probably a man, following about three steps back.

  And both the shoes and the trousers looked to be normal civilian weave and cut instead of the Aventinian or Dominion uniform that Corwin had been expecting. Had Chintawa decided to play this low-key?

  They continued down the stairs, Thena finally reaching a level where Corwin could see her face. Her expression held the same tension he’d heard in her voice when she first called to him, but he could see nothing of the fear or outrage that an official visitation should have prompted. And indeed, as the man descended further, Corwin could see that the rest of his outfit was also civilian, a nice but relatively inexpensive suit.

  His face, as it came into view, was one Corwin had never seen before.

  “Corwin, this is Dushan Matavuli,” Thena said, stepping aside at the foot of the steps to allow the visitor to approach the workbench. “He’s a rancher from DeVegas province.”

  Corwin caught his breath. DeVegas. “Welcome to the Island, Mr. Matavuli,” he said cautiously. “What can I do for you?”

  “You’re secure down here?” Matavuli asked, looking around. “I mean, really secure?”

  “I was once a governor,” Corwin reminded him. “It’s a job that makes paranoids of even the most innocent of men. Trust me—I have all the bells and whistles to ensure that private conversations in this house remain private.”

  “I hope you’re right.” Matavuli took a deep breath. “I have a message, and a request, from your great-nephew Lorne.”

  Long practice enabled Corwin to keep his face expressionless. As soon as he’d heard that Matavuli was from DeVegas, he’d hoped he was bringing word from either Jin or Lorne.

  But that didn’t mean he was ready to take anything his visitor said at face value. Up to now, Commodore Santores’s people hadn’t shown much interest in subtlety or subterfuge. But there was a first time for everything. “I’m listening,” he said.

  “First, the message,” Matavuli said. “He said he’s looking forward to eating drogfowl cacciatore with all of you. Don’t ask me what that means, ’cause I haven’t the foggiest.”

  Corwin looked at Thena, watching some of the tension fading from her face, as he knew she was seeing the same change in his own face. The last time the family had been together, on the eve of the Troft invasions of Qasama and the Cobra Worlds, they’d had drogfowl cacciatore.

  Not only that, but the menu had been mentioned in the mysterious message they’d received from the Trofts after Merrick’s disappearance. Whoever Matavuli was and however he knew Lorne, Corwin knew now that his great nephew trusted the man.

  Which wasn’t exactly the same as Matavuli being trustworthy. Corwin had played enough politics in his day to know that smiles and endorsements didn’t necessarily mean a dagger wasn’t hidden away somewhere. “Don’t worry, we know the context,” he assured their visitor. “What’s the request?”

  Matavuli’s face screwed up in a scowl. “Well, that’s a little more complicated. You have time to talk?”

  “The night is young,” Corwin assured him. With only a slight hesitation, he slid the handgun back in
to its concealed holster. “There’s a couch and a couple of chairs over there behind the kiln,” he added, pointing with his other hand. “Make yourself comfortable while I get us something to drink.”

  “Better make it a stiff one,” Matavuli warned over his shoulder as he headed toward the conversation nook. “I got a feeling you’re going to need it.”

  * * *

  After Kjoic’s ordeal trapped in the cramped access compartment, Merrick had expected the Troft to make an early night of it. And in fact, the sun had barely set behind the forest when Kjoic headed off to the main bunk area. On the way he told Merrick and Anya that they would leave for Svipall as soon as it was light, and advised them to get some rest.

  It was the second Troft order that Merrick was more than willing to accept. The arduous day’s travel, combined with the equally strenuous day before and the short night’s sleep in the middle, had left his own eyelids as heavy as Kjoic’s, if not more so. He and Anya found a pair of bunks in what appeared to be an off-duty sleeping area in the rear of the ship and settled down.

  But before allowing himself to fall asleep, Merrick set his nanocomputer to wake him in three hours. First light, he knew, was about ten hours away, and he intended for the two of them to be long gone before Kjoic discovered his new slaves were missing.

  He awoke three hours later to the silent alarm going off in his head, feeling more tired than when he’d first closed his eyes. For a few minutes he lay motionless, listening. They were close enough to the wrecked engine room for his enhanced hearing to pick up some of the forest noises filtering in through the broken hull, but he could hear nothing from the forward part of the ship.

  Time to go.

  He slipped out of bed as quietly as he could, leaving Anya still asleep in her own bunk. There was no point waking her until he had their escape route ready.

  With the interior of the ship in near-total darkness, the soft starlight seeping in through the gaps in the hull and bulkheads was almost bright by comparison. More importantly, it was bright enough that with his light-amps at full power Merrick could keep an eye on the treacherous footing along the way.

  His first stop, he decided, would be the wide crack he and Anya had entered by, the opening Kjoic had welded the bed frames into. If any of the welds had come loose, he might be able to get them out without having to use his lasers. He crossed the debris-strewn floor toward the bulkhead—

  [Sleep, it eludes you?]

  Merrick froze. The voice had come from almost directly in front of him, no more than a couple of meters back from the crack he was aiming for. [Sleep, it indeed eludes me,] he confirmed, trying to keep his voice calm. [Startlement, you have given it to me.]

  [Startlement, it was not my intent,] Kjoic assured him.

  Merrick bowed his head toward the Troft, thinking furiously. He knew from Anya’s coaching that slaves were supposed to watch out for the masters’ best interests. But were they permitted to take the initiative in such things, or simply wait for orders?

  He didn’t know. But if he didn’t risk it, he might not ever find out what Kjoic was doing here. Or, more importantly, if and when he was planning to leave. [Sleep, does it also elude you?] he asked. [Refreshment, may I bring it to you?]

  [Sleep, it does not elude me,] Kjoic said. [Our safety, I sought to confirm it.] He pointed at the gap with the welded bunks. [The barrier, it is holding.]

  [Such news, it is welcome,] Merrick said, a sour taste in his mouth. So much for sneaking out. [My service, do you require it?]

  [Your service, I do not require it,] Kjoic said, his voice suddenly distant. [Knowledge, speak it to me. Murder for profit, do humans engage in it?]

  Merrick blinked. Where the hell had that come from? [Your question, I don’t understand it,] he stalled.

  [Killings, they occurred here,] Kjoic said, his radiator membranes fluttering. [Profit, the captain sought it. Loyalty, the crew demanded instead.]

  Merrick shook his head. [Forgiveness, I beg it. Understanding, I do not have it.]

  Kjoic gestured toward the sky. [An unknown ship, it spoke to the captain upon our arrival,] he said. [Great profit, it promised in return for our cargo.]

  An eerie feeling crept up Merrick’s back. So someone else out there wanted to get hold of Qasaman razorarms?

  Was that someone another string to Commander Ukuthi’s bow, sent here either as backup or replacement for Merrick and Anya? Or were there other players in this game? [Obedience to the original contract, the others wished to maintain it?] he asked.

  [Understanding, you have it,] Kjoic said, his membranes fluttering. [Defiance, they demonstrated. Combat, the captain began.]

  Merrick winced. A sudden, violent free-for-all battle would certainly explain the blood residue in the corridor. [Your life, they yet spared it?]

  Kjoic gave the Troft clacking-jaw equivalent of a bitter laugh. [My life, I yet spared it,] he said. [Cowardice, I demonstrated it. My comrades, I abandoned them. A sanctuary, I sought it.]

  [A sanctuary, you found it,] Merrick said as he finally got it. He’d vaguely assumed that Kjoic had been in the access compartment trying to fix something when the ship crashed, though he’d recognized that the theory didn’t made much sense. Kjoic hiding from a running battle made a lot more sense. [Death, the others all succumbed to it?] he asked.

  [The truth, I do not know it,] Kjoic said. [Movement, I could hear it after the crash. Voices, I could hear them. Survival, I know not if any achieved it.]

  Merrick nodded. The movement and voices could have been survivors of the bloodbath, or they could have been the local Trofts’ rescue team. [Yet call out, you did not?]

  Kjoic clacked his jaw again. [A fool, I am not one, Merrick Hopekeeper,] he bit out. [Life, I did not wish to give it up.]

  Merrick winced. [Forgiveness, I beg it,] he said. Of course Kjoic hadn’t called for help. He’d had no idea who was out there, or whether or not they would want to leave witnesses behind. [Reason, I did not employ it.]

  [Forgiveness, I grant it,] Kjoic said. [A slave, you are merely one.]

  [Gratitude, I offer it,] Merrick said mechanically, his thoughts racing.

  Because if some of the other crewmen had survived, one of them might know something about the mysterious ship lurking around out there trying to buy Qasaman razorarms.

  And if the ship was from Commander Ukuthi, he and Anya were suddenly no longer alone in Ukuthi’s crazy scheme. With allies would come a whole list of options and possibilities. Especially if those allies came packaged inside their own warship.

  Of course, they might have turned tail and run once their offer to Kjoic’s captain fell through. The attempted mutiny and subsequent crash would have drawn far more attention than they probably wanted.

  Still, they might not have run far. If Merrick could get word to them, they might still have a chance of pulling this off.

  But only if he could question the survivors, or else retrieve the data records the rescue team had pulled.

  And for both of those, he needed Kjoic alive and well.

  And even as he reached that conclusion, the last piece fell into place. Instead of demanding that Merrick and Anya bring them to the local Troft HQ— [Our village, that is the reason you wish to go to it,] he said. [A story, the survivors will have told one. That story, you wish to learn it.]

  [Wisdom, you have it,] Kjoic said, his radiator membranes fluttering again. [Logic, you also have it. The rulers, I cannot yet approach them. Information, I must first obtain it.]

  [Understanding, I have it,] Merrick said, feeling his own pulse speeding up. And of course, none of the humans in Svipall were likely to have the information Kjoic wanted.

  But if the Troft base Anya remembered was still there, it might be possible for them to break in and find the relevant records. Which was, in fact, the same thing Merrick needed to do.

  Which meant that from now on he and Kjoic were going to have to work together.

  [Intelligence, you have it,] Kjoic sai
d, and with his enhanced vision Merrick saw that the Troft was gazing intently at him. [Surprise, I have it.]

  Merrick felt his throat tighten. Only they would have to work together as master and slave.

  And he had better not forget that.

  [Kindness, you show it,] he said, ducking his head humbly. [Ideas, I sometimes have them. Worthless, they most often are.]

  [Ideas, do not disparage them,] Kjoic said severely. [Worthless, they may be. Worthless, they may not be.] He waved a hand. [Travel, we undertake it at first light. Your sleep, return to it.]

  [The order, I obey it.] Merrick hesitated. [Your sleep, you also need it.]

  [My sleep, I return to it soon,] Kjoic promised.

  Anya was lying quietly in her bunk when Merrick returned, her eyes intent on him. “Is all ready?” she whispered.

  “I couldn’t get to the opening,” Merrick whispered back as he lay down on the bunk beside her. “But it doesn’t matter. We’re not leaving. Not yet.”

  Anya stirred. “I don’t understand.”

  Quietly, Merrick gave her a summary of his conversation with Kjoic. “I know it’s dangerous,” he said. “But for the moment, our goals are running parallel. So for the moment, anyway, I think it’s best we stick together.”

  For a long moment she was silent. “Perhaps you do not fully understand the situation,” she said. “We cannot simply walk into Svipall. The people there do not know us.”

  “Which is good,” Merrick said. “If they don’t recognize us, they can’t turn us in to the Trofts.”

  “But how can we claim the village as our own if they do not recognize us?”

  Merrick winced. He hadn’t thought about that part. “I see what you mean. I guess we’ll have to play it a bit more circumspect.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means I need to think about it,” Merrick conceded. “If worse comes to worst, though, we can make up an excuse to pick a different village. Maybe we’ll run into a nest of something nasty along the way and have to divert.”

  “Some predators, you mean?”

  “Exactly,” Merrick said. “I’m sure we can find something big and toothy enough to scare away a couple of timid slaves. Or we could even invent some superstition that prevents us from going into Svipall on this particular day.”