Cobra Gamble

by Timothy Zahn

  "Ah," Akim said, looking sideways at Omnathi. "Yes, I see. But again, I'm afraid it can't be helped. Before we can make any moves against the invaders we need to learn the extent of the Sammon family's actions against us."

  Haafiz hissed between his teeth. "Very well. For the moment, we'll go to this quarantine cabin." He leveled a finger at Akim. "But only for the moment. I will decide later just how long my exile will last."

  "Of course," Akim said.

  "And while we await the son's arrival," Haafiz added, turning to Daulo, "you'll begin your examination of the father. The sooner we determine the extent of his treason, the sooner I'll be able to get back to Purma and locate the remaining Shahni."

  He waved a hand at the villager. "Go," he ordered. "Prepare our provisions."

  A hint of a scowl touched the other's lips. But he merely nodded, made the sign of respect, and left.

  * * *

  There was an old, overgrown, barely visible path leading away from the clearing around Windloom westward toward the quarantine cabin. It looked way too narrow and plant-choked for the wheelchair, and as the group approached it Daulo found himself wincing at the prospect of trying to drag himself the entire half kilometer on foot.

  Fortunately, Akim had already thought it through and come up with a solution. As they reached the path he gave a murmured order, and four of the Djinn took hold of the corners of Daulo's wheelchair, lifting both him and the chair off the ground. With the other two Djinn in the lead, they headed into the forest.

  The path was bumpy, with hidden obstacles that threatened to trip up the wheelchair carriers with every step. Daulo was nearly pitched out at least a dozen times along the way, and it was with a sense of relief that he finally spotted the roof of the cabin ahead between the trees.

  He'd relaxed too soon. Two steps later, the two Djinn in the lead abruptly turned left, leaving the path and turning southward. Daulo's carriers, and of course Daulo himself, did likewise.

  Daulo tensed, a hundred horrible and ominous scenarios flashing through his mind. But whatever was happening, it was quickly clear that he wasn't the only one who hadn't been told of this additional change of plans. "What's this?" Haafiz demanded, stopping in confusion as Akim and Omnathi veered off alongside the Djinn. "Marid Akim? What's going on? Where are you taking us?"

  "To the secret haven I told you about back in Sollas," Akim said. "It's a place that was long prepared for just such a situation."

  "A place the details of which you were extremely vague about," Haafiz said.

  "Be patient, Your Excellency," Akim said. "Your questions will all be answered soon."

  They'd been walking for fifteen minutes, and the Djinn carrying Daulo's wheelchair were starting to stagger with their burden, when they reached their destination.

  Though for a minute Daulo didn't realize that. The small clearing that had been created by a pair of toppled trees wasn't at all remarkable. It was only as the Djinn set Daulo and his wheelchair down that the ground between the trees magically opened up to reveal the top of a three-meter-diameter shaft leading downward.

  "Its designation is Reserve Command Post Sollas Three," Akim said as a pair of young men in gray Djinni combat suits stepped out of the shaft, their hands in laser-firing positions as they eyed the newcomers. "There are thirty such bases scattered around the rural and forested areas of Qasama, designed to serve as regrouping points in case of an overwhelming attack."

  "I was never told of these places," Haafiz said, his voice dark with suspicion. "Why were the Shahni not told?"

  "As you pointed out earlier, the Shahni have their own emergency gathering places," Akim reminded him. "As we of the military haven't been told where those are, so you of the Shahni haven't been told of these."

  "We are the rulers," Haafiz retorted. "We're to know everything that happens on our world."

  "The high command evidently thought otherwise." Akim gestured to the two Djinn still waiting at the shaft. "Ifrit Narayan? Come near and report."

  One of the Djinn lowered his hands, jumped easily over the fallen trees, and strode forward. "We are twenty-eight strong, Marid Akim," he said, making the sign of respect first to Akim and then, almost as an afterthought, to Haafiz. "Two other Ifrits, twenty-five Djinn."

  Akim expelled his breath in a huffing sigh. "I'd hoped for more."

  "As had we," Narayan conceded heavily. "The invasion has cost many lives."

  "Indeed," Akim said. "We can hope that the other posts have had better fortune. Equipment status?"

  "Thirteen of us were forced to leave our combat suits behind," Narayan said. "They've been replaced from the stores, with thirty-seven suits remaining." He ran his eyes briefly over the six Djinn in the group. "I'll need to check the available sizes, but I believe we'll be able to refit your escort. As to other equipment, we have full stores."

  "Good," Akim said. "Once everyone is below, and Shahni Haafiz and Daulo Sammon are settled, I'll want to meet with you and the other Ifrits. An urgent mission has come up that we need to discuss."

  "Yes, Marid." Narayan raised his arm and whistled.

  From the woods around them a dozen combat-suited Djinn slipped into view. "Escort Shahni Haafiz and the others below," Narayan ordered. "Daulo Sammon is injured, and will need to be carried in his wheelchair."

  Three minutes later, after a slightly nerve-wracking descent down a way-too-steep stairway, they were inside the post.

  Daulo had expected to find a place built along the same lines as the Sollas subcity, and he was mostly correct. It was smaller than that vast labyrinth, of course, and cramped to the point of being claustrophobic in places. But it had been constructed of the same steel and concrete, with a similar layout of sleeping, meeting, eating, storage, and medical rooms.

  His handlers took him directly to the latter facility, where one of the other Djinni launched into what turned out to be a very thorough examination.

  An hour later, as the doctor was finally finishing up his tests, Narayan arrived. "Leave us," he ordered the doctor.

  "Yes, Ifrit," the other said. Setting his instruments aside, he slipped past Narayan and disappeared out the door.

  For a moment Narayan eyed Daulo in silence. "I understand from Marid Akim," he said at last, "that you may be a traitor."

  Daulo sighed, suddenly unbearably tired of this whole thing. "Marid Akim may believe that," he said. "But he's wrong."

  "More importantly—and more interestingly—Shahni Haafiz believes it, too," Narayan continued. "Tell me, what have you done to make an enemy of the Shahni?"

  "I don't know," Daulo said. "Maybe because I'm a villager, and he doesn't like villagers. Maybe because I helped defend Sollas, and he thinks that somehow makes the city dwellers look bad. Though I can't imagine why he would think that."

  "Or maybe because you're a friend and ally of the Cobra warrior Jasmine Moreau and her son Merrick Moreau." Narayan's lip twisted. "Whom Shahni Haafiz tried his best to kill."

  Daulo felt his eyes widen. "He what? I hadn't heard that."

  "We took great pains to keep it quiet," Narayan said grimly. "But it's true. Shahni Haafiz stabbed Merrick Moreau while he was attempting to rescue him and Shahni Melcha from the Palace. Apparently, he believed the Cobras were in collusion with the invaders. He probably still does."

  "That's completely untrue," Daulo said firmly.

  "I know," Narayan said. "So do all of us who fought alongside them. But Shahni Haafiz has a reputation for stubbornness, as well as a reputation for never admitting an error if he can avoid it. He prefers to cover over his mistakes, either with words or with diversions."

  Daulo sighed. And here he was, Daulo Sammon, a living reminder of the service Jin Moreau had done for Qasama. Not just in this war, but also thirty years ago when she and Daulo helped destroy a quieter but no less insidious threat to their world. "He plans to destroy me, doesn't he?" he murmured. "And my son." Tears abruptly blurred his vision. "What's left of my son."

  "It d
oes look that way," Narayan admitted. "For whatever it's worth, I think Advisor Omnathi's willing to hold off judgment until all the facts have been assembled and presented. Still, he's only an advisor, not one of the Shahni. His opinions may or may not carry much weight."

  "Against Shahni Haafiz," Daulo murmured, "I suspect they won't."

  "No," Narayan said. "But whatever the final outcome, it won't happen for a while. The law states that a trial for the charge of treason must be overseen by one of the Shahni. And since Marid Akim believes your son is a vital part of the charges against you, he's insisted that he be brought here before that trial can begin."

  "Insanity," Daulo ground out. "A poor, sick, paralyzed man, and he's going to drag him halfway across Qasama? He can't be serious."

  , "He's very serious," Narayan said, his voice turning dark. "Eighteen of my Djinn and two of the group Marid Akim brought from Sollas have already set off through the forest toward Milika."

  Daulo stared at him. "He sent twenty Djinn? How dangerous does he think my son is?"

  "I have no idea," Narayan said. "All I know is that he told us he needed as many Djinn as possible for a special mission, then interviewed each of us in private before selecting the twenty." He snorted gently. "Which, considering the questions he was asking, he might as well have done by random calling of names."

  "What kind of questions were they?" Daulo asked, intrigued despite his fear and frustration.

  "Strange ones," Narayan told him. "More psychological than operational. How we felt about villagers, what we thought of Jasmine and Merrick Moreau and the Cobra Worlds. That sort of thing."

  "Finding out which Djinn already share his preconceptions about my guilt."

  "Possibly," Narayan conceded. "I myself have no problem with either villagers or the Moreaus, and I was chosen to remain behind." He pursed his lips thoughtfully. "Yet several of those who were sent also fought alongside Merrick Moreau and have the highest respect for him and his mother. One of them, in fact, Domo Paneka, has even suggested that a new Qasaman award of honor be established in their name when the war is over."

  "So what qualities was Marid Akim looking for?" Daulo asked.

  Narayan shook his head. "To be honest, I have no idea."

  "No," Daulo murmured. "I just hope..." He trailed off, not wanting to even think the thought, let alone state it.

  Narayan picked up on it anyway. "He'll be all right," he assured Daulo. "A man is not condemned without cause and proof. Not even in the midst of a war, not even if the charge is treason, not even if the Shahni who sits in judgment has already made up his mind. My Djinn know that. If it's within their power to bring your son here safely, they will."

  And as Daulo looked into Narayan's eyes, he knew the other meant it. "Thank you," he said. "I suppose I can accept that Shahni Haafiz wants to execute me, for whatever real or fancied reason he believes. But I wish he'd do it without disturbing my son."

  "The ways of the Shahni are often unclear to ordinary men," Narayan said philosophically. "In the meantime, I have work to do, and you need to rest and heal. I'll send the doctor back in to finish his tests, then have you moved to the recovery room."

  "Again, thank you," Daulo said.

  "No thanks needed," Narayan said. "It's my honor to assist a friend of Merrick Moreau. And don't give up hope. Events will unfold as they will, in their own way and with their own timing."

  His considered. "And never forget that the universe always has a few surprises of its own to deliver. Surprises that are always worth the wait."

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Merrick's first impression as he came slowly out of the gray fog filling his brain was that he was uncomfortable.

  Really uncomfortable. The air around him was cold and dry, his body ached in at least a dozen places, and a half-reflexive attempt to shift position showed his arms, hands, and legs inexplicably incapable of movement.

  And then, abruptly, he remembered.

  Carefully, keeping his eyes closed, he activated his opticals. He was in a small room, about three meters square, with a single metal door to his right and no windows that he could see from his current angle. The ceiling light was something of a surprise: soft and diffuse instead of the white-hot blaze that Merrick would have expected in an interrogation cell. The ceiling behind the light was also a surprise: textured, reinforced concrete instead of metal. Did that mean he was on the ground instead of inside one of the invaders' warships? Possibly in what was left of the Sollas subcity—what he could see of the room he was in looked very much like the holding cell the Qasamans had had him locked in for a few hours.

  Unless he wasn't on Qasama at all. There was no reason why the invaders couldn't have taken him to one of their own worlds instead.

  And if they had, not only would he probably never escape, but his remains would probably never even be found.

  It was a somber and embarrassing demonstration of his still shaky thought process that it took him another few seconds of swirling panic to recognize the obvious way to answer that question. And with his nanocomputer's clock circuit showing only a little over three days since his capture, it was almost certain that he was still somewhere on Qasama.

  He was listening to his thudding heart as it started to slow down when there was a soft click from the door.

  He froze, his brain finally kicking into full gear. Now, when his captors thought he was still unconscious, would be his best chance to make his move.

  Only an instant later he realized to his chagrin that he couldn't. The immobility of his arms, hands, and legs wasn't because of fatigue, but because they were encased in heavy cast-like wraps bolted to the frame of the bed on which he was lying. Even if he'd had better leverage, it was unlikely he could break the bolts free. He still had his sonic weapons, but there was no advantage in stunning his visitors if all he could do afterward was lie here while other Trofts strolled over and locked the door on him again.

  No, all he could realistically hope for right now was to gain some information. Opening his eyes, he turned his face toward the door as the lock clicked again and the heavy metal panel swung open.

  A Troft stepped into the room, his clothing a civilian-type leotard instead of the armored ones the invaders' soldiers typically wore. He had a small case in his hand, similar to the sort that Merrick had seen doctors from the Tlossie demesne carrying. Behind the alien he caught a glimpse of a long corridor, its ceiling bowed and battered in places. As the door closed behind the Troft, there was movement behind him and a second figure stepped into view.

  Merrick caught his breath. The second person wasn't another Troft. It was a human female.

  She was young, he noted in that first glance, probably a few years younger than he was, with a slim but muscular build and the slightly darkened skin of a lifetime spent out in the sun. Her expression was as odd as the rest of her, blank for the most part, yet edged by a hint of wariness.

  And framing that unfamiliar face and strange expression was a swirling halo of the brightest blond hair Merrick had ever seen.

  The Troft stepped to the bed, set his case down and opened it, and as he reached inside he jabbered out a stream of cattertalk.

  Not a single word of which Merrick understood.

  Merrick felt his heart picking up its pace again. Like everyone else in the Cobra Worlds, he'd slogged his way through four years of cattertalk lessons in school. While he'd never really cared for those classes—he'd found Qasaman much easier to learn—he'd nevertheless gotten through them, and had even placed in the top half of his class.

  Now, it was as if that whole section of his memory had been wiped clean. Was his brain still not functioning at full capacity yet?

  Or had the Trofts done something to him in the seventy-five hours he'd been their prisoner? [Your words, I do not understand them,] he said. At least he still remembered how to speak cattertalk. Assuming he was actually speaking it right now. [Your comment, will you repeat it?]

  The Troft's radiator
membranes fluttered as he held a small sensor over Merrick's chest, his eyes flicking sideways to the young woman. "He said that he is your doctor," the woman said in Anglic. "He asks how you feel."

  It took another few seconds for Merrick to find his voice. Her faint accent was like nothing he'd ever heard before. "I'm a little groggy," he told her. "Otherwise, I think I'm all right."

  The woman looked at the doctor and rattled off some cattertalk of her own. The words were just as incomprehensible as the Troft's had been. The alien made a sort of clucking noise deep in his throat, pointed a finger at Merrick's torso, and said something back to her. "The doctor says you are wrong," she translated. "You have injuries to your spleen, your right kidney, and your stomach which as yet are only partially healed. You also have several areas of torn muscle and strained tendons."

  Which were the same injuries Dr. Krites had listed back in Milika. At least the Troft doctor knew what he was doing.

  Or at least he could read a medical scanner. "You only asked how I felt." Merrick reminded the woman. "You didn't ask what my actual condition was." He started to gesture, but with his arms pinioned all he could manage was a little wiggling of his fingertips. "So what's the prognosis?"

  The woman again spoke to the Troft, and there was another brief exchange between them. "A few days more of treatment and you will be sufficiently healed," she said.

  Merrick frowned. "Sufficiently healed for what?"

  "For the Games." She waved a hand in a way that reminded him of a stage magician preparing to make his assistant disappear. "Rest now, and heal."

  "I'd heal more comfortably if you'd get all these restraints off me," Merrick said, again wiggling his fingers. "Would you ask the doctor if he could please do that?"

  The woman's forehead wrinkled slightly, but she launched into more cattertalk. The doctor replied, and the woman shook her head. "The doctor says that you would kill us if he did that. It is not his wish to die that way."

  "What if I promise not to kill him?" Merrick offered.

  The woman looked him straight in the eye. "Do you so promise?"