Cobra Gamble

by Timothy Zahn

  A brittle silence filled the room. "I don't suppose," Jody said, just to try to spark some reaction from those stone faces, "that we can convince you we were just goofing around."

  "No," Kemp said with a simple, cold flatness that made her wince. "What the hell were you thinking. Broom?"

  "She's not to blame," Rashida cut in before Jody could find an answer to that. "I insisted she not tell anyone."

  "You can insist all you want," Kemp growled back, glowering openly at her now. "She's under no obligation to baby-sit your feelings or your honor or anything else." He shifted the glower to Jody. "She is under obligation to keep the people in charge up to date on everything that in any way impinges on our plans for the defense of Caelian."

  "I'm sorry," Jody said between stiff lips, her stomach knotted painfully. It was one thing, she realized dimly, to talk with casual unconcern about her family's name when that name wasn't on the line. Only now, with it in danger of being dragged into public shame, did she realize how much it truly meant to her.

  And yet, paradoxically, in that same instant she realized how little a name meant. Not when it was weighed against such things as life and freedom and victory. "I'rii sorry," she said again. "But assuming you've been listening the whole time, you know that we're right. We have to move this ship, and Rashida's the only one who can do that. You want to lock me away, or whatever you do to prisoners, fine. I'll take whatever punishment you or Harli want to throw at me."

  Bracing herself, she sent as stern a look as she could manage upstream against Kemp's glare. "But Rashida has to stay free and able to work."

  Kemp's eyebrows rose slightly on his forehead. "Are you bargaining with me, Broom?" he demanded. "You, of all people?"

  Jody took a deep breath—

  "Especially you, who needs a third person to help you fly this bird?" he added in the same gruff tone.

  Jody blinked, feeling the sudden discomfiting sensation of having been leaning against a wind that had suddenly stopped blowing. "Excuse me?" she asked cautiously. "Are you saying...?"

  "That we're going to join the crazy offworlders who can't seem to understand basic simple orders?" Smitty suggested. "Yeah, I guess we are."

  "Don't misunderstand," Kemp warned. "I'm still mad as hell that you didn't go to Harli the minute you realized there was a problem. But that's water long under the bridge. You're right, we have to move this damn chunk of alien hardware."

  He looked at Rashida. "And she's right that you're going to need a third person. Smitty?"

  "I'll do it," Smitty said without hesitation. "You've got enough on your own plate already. Besides, I can make myself scarce easier than you can. Just switch me to Babool's roving-patrol shift, and I'll have an excuse to be in here while Rashida and Jody are working."

  "Safer to just assign you to guard and assist them," Kemp said, eyeing Jody thoughtfully. "A more critical question is whether they can spare Jody from work on that fancy curtain they're putting together."

  "Easily," Jody assured him. "My degrees are in animal physiology and management—Geoff and Freylan only brought me in on this job to deal with the fauna we were going to capture and study. All the electrical and mechanical stuff was their department. Once they figure out how to build the curtain, all they'll need is extra hands for the grunt work. Anyone in Stronghold can do that as well as I can. Probably better."

  "Well, we'll see," Kemp said. "And for the record, they've already started work on the curtain, along with about thirty of Stronghold's finest. If no one starts screaming in panic for your help, I guess we'll be okay with leaving you here."

  He took a step closer to Jody. "But let me make one thing very clear. From now on everything you do gets reported. Every success, every failure, every strange thought or idea—everything. Understood?"

  "Understood," Jody said. "Do we report to you, or to Harli?"

  Kemp looked sideways at Smitty. "What do you think?"

  "Harli's way too busy with everything else he has to do," Smitty said. "And since I'll already be here, you can just report to me."

  "Yeah, let's keep the chain of command simple," Kemp agreed with a hint of sarcasm. "Wouldn't want you to get all confused again."

  "We appreciate that," Jody said, finally starting to breathe again. "Thank you."

  "Thank me after you get this bird off the ground," Kemp growled. "And you've put it down again where Harli's told you to."

  He took a deep breath, let it out in a huff. "Okay. Logistics. Your house is going to be the center of a round-the-clock sewing and soldering marathon for a while, so you might as well move into the governor's spare room with Rashida. Smitty will pick you both up there at oh-five-thirty tomorrow, and the three of you will get to work. Any questions?"

  "Just one," Rashida said, a bit timidly. "We had a late and very filling lunch, and I'm not yet tired."

  "Neither am I," Jody agreed.

  "I could stick around another hour or two myself," Smitty offered. "In case they find something for me to do."

  Kemp hesitated, then gave a reluctant nod. "Fine," he said. "But no more than a couple of hours. The next guard shift starts about then, and I'd just as soon avoid any awkward questions as long as possible." He turned and headed across the room. "Just be careful," he called over his shoulder, "and try not to fire any thrusters or whatever else this thing's got."

  He reached the door and turned back. "And no matter what you do tonight," he added, "tomorrow will still start at oh-five thirty."

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  The first night with Anya in his cell was rough on Merrick. Every time she rolled over, it seemed, or made any kind of unexpected noise or strange movement he snapped awake, his brain and reflexes on hair trigger, his body in full fight-or-flight mode. By the time the guard delivered the breakfast tray through the slot at the bottom of the door, he felt almost as tired as when he'd gone to bed.

  Fortunately, the day itself turned out to be uneventful. The Troft doctor came by once with another injection, but aside from that Merrick didn't see any of the aliens. Every half hour or so Anya asked if there was anything she could do for him, subsiding without comment or complaint when he told her there wasn't. He tried taking a nap after lunch, just to see if she or the Trofts would try to pull something when he was wasn't watching. Nothing had happened by the time he did accidentally fall asleep, nor did anything seem changed when he woke up.

  At bedtime Anya again offered him a dose from her medicine vial. Again, he turned her down.

  And life settled into an odd but not unpleasant routine.

  Merrick had told himself firmly that he wasn't going to get emotionally involved with Anya, no matter what she did to encourage such a relationship. To his mild surprise, she did absolutely nothing in that direction. She never spoke to him unless she was asking if he had any orders, or was answering one of his infrequent questions. She was always first at the door when meals arrived, retrieving the tray and bringing it to Merrick, then retreating to her bed to sit silently and patiently until he turned over her half of the food to her. When it was time to sleep, she asked one final time what she could do for him, offered him some of her medicine, then retreated again to her bed. She never joined Merrick in his daily workout regimen, but he often noticed her doing quiet isometric exercises of her own. Once, when he woke up in the middle of the night, he spotted her doing some stretching and limbering and something that looked like a combination of tai chi chuan and ballet.

  Once, out of a sudden sheer desperation for human companionship, he invited her to eat with him. As she had with his offer of the room's bed that first night, she reminded him that he was the master and she was the slave, and that she would eat only what he didn't want, and only after he'd decided what that portion was. The strangest part of the conversation was the sense Merrick had afterward that Anya had made the same decision he had about not becoming emotionally entangled with her unasked-for roommate. All of which, to Merrick's mind, made her a most unlikely Troft spy. So who
was she? And why had they put her in his cell?

  By the fourth day of their captivity together, he'd still come up with only one answer.

  She really was, in fact, nothing more or less than a slave.

  And it was frightening how easy it was to get used to having such a person around.

  It was on the sixth day, an hour after Anya had sent the empty lunch tray out through the door slot, when the routine changed.

  It began with the usual double click of the lock. But this time, instead of the Troft doctor, a pair of armored soldiers stepped through the doorway. [The Games, you are ordered to accompany us to them,] one of them announced.

  "Am I, now," Merrick murmured, eyeing the aliens. Both carried small lasers, but the weapons were belted at their sides, with the security straps still attached. Apparently, they weren't expecting trouble from the prisoner.

  What they were clearly expecting was an uneventful trip to wherever they were going. Each of the aliens was carrying a set of shackles, thick metal cuffs connected by thirty centimeters of heavy-looking chain. One set was probably for Merrick's wrists, those cuffs including fan-shaped palm pieces he assumed were designed to limit the use of his fingertip lasers. The other set was probably ankle cuffs, a bit larger than the wrist versions but just as sturdy-looking.

  Merrick suppressed a cynical smile. If they thought that was all they needed to immobilize a Cobra, they were in for a rude awakening. [The Games, of what do they consist?] he asked in cattertalk.

  [The truth about them, you will learn it soon,] the guard said. [The shackles, you will submit to them.]

  Merrick flicked a glance over their shoulders at the corridor beyond. Once again, whoever was in charge had set up the pop-in/pop-out arrangement of gunners in the various doorways near Merrick's cell. Even if he barreled through the two guards standing in front of him, he wouldn't get very far.

  But if he went along with the shackles another opportunity might present itself along the way. Even alert people sometimes got sloppy when they thought they were holding all the cards. [The shackles, I will submit to them,] he agreed, hopping off the bed and offering his wrists. [The shackles, you may attach them.]

  The two Trofts stepped warily forward, one of them fastening the wrist cuffs around Merrick's arms, the other squatting down and doing the same with the ankle cuffs. All four of the cuffs, Merrick noticed as they were locked in place, had thick round rings welded to their sides, too sturdy to be simple hanging rings. Perhaps they were planning to transport him by vehicle and the rings would be attached to more chains to anchor him to the floor or walls.

  The guards finished and stepped back. [To the arena, you will follow us,] the first guard said. He turned and gestured to Anya. [Merrick Moreau, you will also accompany him.]

  [Obedience, I give it,] Anya said, standing up and coming to Merrick's side.

  [Behind him, you will walk there,] the guard said, gesturing again.

  Silently, Anya took two steps back, stopping a meter behind Merrick. The guard took up position behind her, the other guard settled in two meters in front of Merrick, and at a curt order the whole procession trooped off together out of the cell and down the corridor in parade-style single file.

  With the prisoner now theoretically helpless, Merrick had assumed the randomized guard rotation would end after they passed the first group of doorways. But the Troft commander was smarter or warier than that. As they continued on, more doorways ahead began sprouting soldiers, running the same target-lock-defeating pattern as the first group.

  Still, sooner or later the Trofts were bound to make a mistake.

  And then, twenty meters dead ahead, there it was. In the center of a cross-corridor a large, heavy-looking metal ring had been set up in front of their procession. The structure was about a meter and a half in diameter, standing vertically on a wide, flat stand, with the look of a security metal detector about it. Power cables snaked away to the left, while a small control board on the right glowed with blue and green status lights.

  Mentally, Merrick shook his head. What in the Worlds they thought a metal detector would teach them at this stage he couldn't imagine.

  What it was going to teach them, though, was that powered electrical equipment and Cobras were a very bad mix.

  It would have to be quick, he knew. But he could do it. He would wait until the first three of their group had passed through the detector, and as the Troft bringing up the rear stepped into the ring Merrick would turn and trigger his arcthrower, flash-vaporizing the electronics and electrical components inside the ring and blowing the whole device, hopefully with enough force to take out the guard. At the same instant, he would stun the Troft in front of him with a blast from his sonic. A fingertip laser burst at his ankle chain to free his legs, a pretzel-twisted leg and antiarmor blast into his wrist chain, and he and Anya would be clear to make a run for it.

  If Anya was interested in escape, that is. If she wasn't...

  Merrick set his jaw. If she wasn't, he told himself firmly, he wouldn't waste precious seconds trying to argue or reason with her. She came with him the instant he was free, or he would have no choice but to leave her to her own devices.

  The lead Troft reached the ring and passed through it. Merrick frowned, flicking a glance at the status board. As far as he could tell, none of the lights had changed. Yet the Troft was obviously loaded with metal, electronics, power supplies, and everything else that a security detector might be programmed to search for. Could the ring be something else instead? He stepped into it, momentarily dismissing the question as he readied his arcthrower.

  And in a violent fraction of a second he was yanked to a halt, his arms snapping to either side to slam into the ring, the chain between his wrists breaking with barely even a sound or a tug. Simultaneously, his legs were pulled forcibly together, that chain not breaking but simply bunching together between his ankles with links digging painfully into his skin.

  The ring wasn't a security detector at all. It was a giant, electromagnetic trap.

  And Merrick had literally walked right into it.

  He flexed his chest and arm muscles with all his strength, adding full servo power to the effort. But with his arms spread-eagled to the sides his leverage was effectively zero. He looked up at his right hand, peripherally noticing the breakaway link that had been coyly nestled in amidst the real ones in his wrist chain, wondering if he could still fire his arcthrower. But with the cuff pinned to the ring, his little finger was now pointed along the side of the metal arc instead of directly at it. Triggering the arcthrower would just send the bulk of the current away from the mechanism instead of directly into it.

  And even if enough of the charge got into the ring to do some damage, with his cuff pinned to the metal there was a good chance that much of the jolt would flow into his own arm. There were, he reflected bitterly, few more humiliating ways to die than by the careless use of his own weapons.

  From behind him came the sound of hurrying feet. He tried twisting his torso against his wrists, hoping he could at least turn the edge of his sonic toward whatever was about to happen back there. But again, his lack of leverage defeated the attempt.

  A pair of Troft hands appeared at his right and deftly slid a sturdy-looking rod into the small ring he'd noticed earlier welded onto his right wrist cuff. A quick turn of his head to the left showed the other end of the rod now being attached to that cuff. A second rod was fastened to the horizontal bar near his left wrist, and he glanced down to see the other end sliding into the ring on his left ankle cuff. A third rod mirrored the second's by linking his right wrist and ankle.

  And with that the activity ceased. A hum Merrick hadn't noticed faded, and the pull on his wrists and ankles vanished as the electromagnets were powered down.

  For all the good it did him. With a yoke-style bar across his shoulders keeping his arms rigidly apart, and with his legs able to move only forward and backward, and then only a few centimeters at time, he was as thorough
ly trapped as if he was still pinned to the ring.

  But if his lasers and arcthrower were now useless, he still had his sonics. He focused on the Troft guard in front of him, who had stopped and turned to face the operation. It would be a useless and fairly juvenile gesture to flatten the soldier, Merrick knew. But at the moment he was in the insanely frustrated mood to do it anyway.

  And then, even that small token act of defiance was taken away from him. With a Troft hand gripping her wrist, Anya stumbled under Merrick's pinioned right arm and was hauled to a stop directly in front of him, right exactly where she would take the brunt of his sonic.

  Merrick took a deep breath. [My cooperation, you could have simply asked for it,] he called.

  [Your forgiveness, I ask it,] the same disembodied Troft voice he'd heard that first day replied. [Your pledge of cooperation, you only gave it until the Games. The risk, I could not take it.]

  [A drug, you could have used it instead,] Merrick pointed out. [Unless such elaborate schemes as this, you enjoy them.]

  [A drug, it might dangerously slow your reactions in the Games,] the Troft said. [A point, it was also necessary to make. This demonstration, it is intended to teach you truth.]

  Merrick grimaced. [The truth, that my mind and intentions can be read in advance?]

  [The truth, you recognize it,] the Troft confirmed. [A transport dolly, it will now be brought to take you to the Games.]

  Merrick squared his shoulders as best as he could with a pole digging into his back. [Your offer, I acknowledge it,] he said. [The Games, I will travel there under my own strength.]

  There was a pause, and then something that sounded like a rasping chuckle. [Your spirit of rebellion, I approve of it,] the disembodied voice said. [Your destination, the soldiers will lead you to it.]

  Traveling in his current situation, Merrick quickly discovered, was easier said than done. The rods allowed him less than half his usual stride, and even those small steps transmitted an awkward and unpleasant torsion to the shoulder rod with each movement.