by Timothy Zahn
"Yes," Siraj said. "I find it supremely ironic that the choice he presented Djinn Ghushtre has not, in fact, been made. Nor has it been required to be made. Whatever happens tomorrow, whether we succeed or fall, honor nevertheless remains ours."
He half turned; and to Jin's surprise he made the sign of respect to her. "Ours," he added, "and yours."
Jin swallowed hard as she returned the sign. "Thank you, Siraj Akim. Whatever happens tomorrow, it's been a privilege to serve with you. And with all of Qasama."
"As it has been for us to serve with you." Siraj smiled tightly. "But I also have no doubt that honor in victory is better than honor in defeat. Let us go and prepare ourselves as best we can for the challenges we will soon face."
"Absolutely," Jin agreed. "Lead the way."
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
From the very beginning of his incarceration in the Djinn command post, Daulo had tried to keep to himself as much as possible.
It had turned out to be surprisingly easy. Much easier than he'd expected given the post's compact size. But with Miron Akim having sent twenty of the Djinn to Milika, and with at least six of the remaining fourteen on patrol in the forest at any given time, the post sometimes felt almost like the Sammon family mine on a workers' holiday.
Most days the only person he saw was the doctor, and he usually only stayed long enough to check the progress of Daulo's recovery and occasionally adjust the level of his medications. As long as Daulo took his meals from the self-service galley at non-standard hours, his chances of avoiding everyone else were really quite high.
Fortunately, the one person he most urgently wanted to avoid seemed to also be trying to keep to himself. Daulo only saw Shahni Haafiz twice during those first few days, both of them chance encounters as Daulo was entering the galley and Haafiz was leaving.
The first of those times, Haafiz had demanded to know why Daulo wasn't under direct guard, and had warned he would be asking Ifrit Narayan the same question. The second time, he simply glared at Daulo and passed by without a word. Apparently, whatever answer he'd gotten from Narayan hadn't been the one he wanted.
As to Omnathi and Akim, Daulo didn't see either of them at all. He asked the doctor about it once, concerned that they might have taken ill, and was assured that both men were simply busy elsewhere on the post. That was all the doctor would say, and Daulo hadn't asked since.
The disadvantage of Daulo's self-imposed isolation was that the silence gave him that much more time to brood about the false charges against him and his son, and to worry about Fadil's safety as the Djinn transported him through the forest.
But he knew down deep that surrounding himself with company wouldn't have distracted his mind from those issues, either. Better not to have to gaze into other people's faces and wonder if they believed Akim's charges against him.
It was on the tenth day after his arrival when it all suddenly came apart.
He was alone in the galley, finishing up the late breakfast/early lunch meal he'd become accustomed to, when Haafiz entered. "There you are," the Shahni said, his voice cold and stiff. "I've been looking all over for you."
Which was probably a lie, Daulo knew, or at least an overly dramatic overstatement. There were only three places he ever went: his quarters, the galley, and the shower room. If Haafiz hadn't figured that out by now, he had no business being a Shahni.
But it wasn't Daulo's place to make such points, at least not out loud. "Can I help you, Shahni Haafiz?" he asked instead, making the sign of respect.
And caught his breath. Nestled in the Shahni's hand was a small but nasty-looking handgun.
"I don't know, Daulo Sammon," Haafiz said darkly as he strode across the galley. "Can you tell me why you, accused of treason, still walk free and unhindered around a secret base of the Djinn? Can you tell me why there's been no movement on any trial or interrogation, which is supposedly why I'm still here instead of at Purma?"
He stopped two meters from Daulo and lifted the gun to point squarely at Daulo's face. "And why," he added, his voice suddenly deadly, "your son is still not here?"
Daulo's whole body suddenly felt cold. "It's only been ten days," he managed, trying not to stare at the gun. "Ifrit Akim said it would take a week in both directions."
"Miron Akim lied," Haafiz said flatly. "I've calculated the numbers. A Djinni with combat suit assistance should be able to cover the distance to Milika in no more than five days. Four, if they chose to push themselves." He lifted the gun slightly. "So I ask you again, Daulo Sammon: where is your son?"
"You don't really expect him to know that, do you?" a voice called from the doorway.
Daulo tore his gaze from the gun and looked over Haafiz's shoulder. It was Narayan, walking casually across the galley toward them.
But there was nothing casual about the tight expression on his face. Nor was there anything casual about the way his gloved hands, still swinging at his sides, were already curled into laser-firing positions.
Only Haafiz, with his glare on Daulo, couldn't see that. "Why not?" Haafiz bit out over his shoulder. "Everyone else claims to know nothing. Perhaps only Daulo Sammon knows the truth. Shall we not ask him?"
"How could he possibly know things that are happening hundreds of kilometers away?" Narayan asked reasonably. "He's been locked up in here ever since he arrived."
"One radio has already been found in his possession," Haafiz reminded him. "Perhaps he had two."
Abruptly, the Shahni spun around, his gun now leveled at Narayan's chest. "Or perhaps," Haafiz said softly, "he's not the only traitor here."
Narayan stopped. "Perhaps he's not," he said, his voice as soft as Haafiz's.
Haafiz seemed taken aback by the other's response. "Then you agree," he said, lowering his gun barrel a few degrees. "Using the excuse of Daulo Sammon to keep me trapped here can only be attributed to cowardice, incompetence, or treason. And I know neither Moffren Omnathi nor Miron Akim is incompetent or a coward."
"Is that what you referred to?" Narayan said, his forehead wrinkling as if in confusion. "Your pardon, Shahni Haafiz. I misunderstood what you meant by treason."
"What did you think I meant?" Haafiz countered.
Narayan shrugged. "I assumed you were speaking of attempted murder," he said.
And suddenly his hands came up, the lasers in his gloves pointing at Haafiz's chest. "The attempted murders," he continued quietly, "of Senior Advisor Moffren Omnathi and Marid Siraj Akim."
Daulo felt his jaw drop. Haafiz had been planning to murder Omnathi and Akim? He opened his mouth to demand an explanation.
And closed it again. This was nothing he wanted to get in the middle of.
But if Haafiz was thrown by the accusation, he didn't show it. "Moffren Omnathi is a traitor," the Shahni spat. "With utter contempt for the rule of the Shahni he sent an emissary to make a devil's bargain with our enemies."
"He had approval from the Shahni," Narayan said.
"Not all the Shahni," Haafiz retorted.
"All the Shahni who were present."
"Yes, and how very convenient that was for him," Haafiz bit out. "I was available. I should have been called. And his treason was then compounded by Siraj Akim, who went so far as to send his own son on the mission. All of them are traitors. All of them deserve to die."
"If you believed that you should have brought formal charges against them," Narayan countered. "Instead, like a coward, you ordered them on a mission which would leave them dead." He took a step closer to the Shahni. "And then ordered six good and loyal men to die alongside them."
Daulo caught his breath, that confrontation in the Sollas sub-city suddenly coming clear. Haafiz hadn't cared about slowing the invaders' penetration into the city's last remaining stronghold. The sole purpose of his proposed ambush had been to put Omnathi and Akim in front of enemy lasers where they would die.
"And how useful do you think it would have been to bring charges?" Haafiz asked scornfully. "You know what happened—those g
ood and loyal men, as you call them, defied my direct orders. What use is it to follow the rule of law when the Djinn have chosen to put themselves above both the law and the Shahni?"
"We're at war," Narayan said. "Sometimes rules must be broken if we're to throw the invaders off our soil."
"The rule of law and the Shahni cannot and will not be broken," Haafiz insisted. "We are the leaders of the Qasaman people, Ifrit Narayan. We are the ones who make the decisions for our world."
He lifted his gun higher, ignoring the lasers pointed at him and leveling the weapon at Narayan's chest. "And if I make the decision to dispense justice here and now," he said, "you will stand aside and permit it."
Narayan drew himself up. "No, I will not," he said flatly. "You have no evidence, and without evidence there cannot be justice."
"The evidence is that I'm still here, which proves a conspiracy to keep me here," Haafiz said. "For the good of Qasama, I must return at once to the business of saving my world."
Narayan spat a curse under his breath. "Do you think you're the only one who hates this place?" he bit out. "You think that none of the rest of us teeter at the edge of insanity at being forced to remain idle while—?" He broke off abruptly.
But too late. "While what?" Haafiz demanded. "What's going on out there that I should know about?"
"The war is going on," Narayan said. "You already know that."
But the words were an evasion. Daulo knew it, and so did Haafiz. "I'm leaving now, Ifrit Narayan," the Shahni said, his voice quiet but as unyielding as granite. "Assign your Djinn to escort me, or let me go alone. But I will not spend another day here. I will know what is going on across my world."
Narayan's eyes flicked down to the gun pointed at his chest. "I have my orders, Shahni Haafiz," he said. "I can't allow you to leave. Not yet."
"Move aside," Haafiz ordered in the same stony voice. "Or I kill you where you stand."
Slowly, Narayan shook his head. "I can't."
Daulo curled his hands into helpless fists. And with that, he knew, Narayan was dead. Haafiz wouldn't back away from his order and his threat. Not Haafiz. Narayan would stand there until the Shahni pulled the trigger. Then Haafiz would walk over the body, leave the outpost and head out into the forest, and start the long journey toward Purma.
And alone in a swirl of dangerous predators and even more dangerous Troft invaders, he too would almost certainly die.
Daulo had to stop this. Somehow, he had to break the impasse.
And there was only one way to do that. "Then let the trial begin," he said. "Right now."
"Be quiet, Daulo Sammon," Narayan said, his eyes still on Haafiz's face. "This isn't your fight."
"It's every bit my fight," Daulo retorted. "Shahni Haafiz is right—I'm the reason he's been stuck here all this time. Very well, then. Try me, acquit or convict me, and allow Shahni Haafiz to travel to Purma."
For the first time Narayan's eyes shifted to Daulo's face. "You have no idea what you're saying," he said. "You have no evidence of your innocence, only your word against Marid Akim's. We need to wait until your son arrives to speak on your behalf."
"My son has apparently been delayed," Daulo said, his heart tearing yet again at the thought of what might have happened to Fadil. "Enough time has been wasted. One way or the other, it ends now."
"Not now," a new voice said quietly from across the galley. "But it ends tomorrow."
Daulo leaned to the side to see around Haafiz and Narayan. Miron Akim was standing calmly in the doorway. "What did you say?" he asked.
"I said you will have your wish, Daulo Sammon," Akim said. "And you will have yours, Shahni Haafiz. Daulo Sammon's trial for treason will begin tomorrow."
His eyes seemed to glitter. "And it will end tomorrow."
"And I'll finally be permitted to leave this place?" Haafiz demanded suspiciously.
Akim nodded. "With a full Djinn escort, if you wish."
Haafiz hesitated, then lowered his gun. "Very well," he said. "But I warn you: I'll stand for no further delays."
"There will be none," Akim promised. "Have you finished your meal, Daulo Sammon?"
Daulo nodded. "I have."
"Then return to your quarters," Akim ordered. "The computer will have the necessary legal guides for preparing your defense. I suggest you study them."
Daulo swallowed. "I will, Miron Akim."
"Good," Akim said. "Then go."
Gingerly, Daulo eased past Haafiz and Narayan and headed across the galley. Narayan, he noted in passing, had also lowered his arms and lasers.
The confrontation had been defused. For the moment, at least, both men were safe.
Leaving Daulo alone facing the risk of death.
He started to walk past Akim, stopped as the other caught his arm. "And don't give up hope," Akim murmured. "It may still be that your son will come to your rescue."
Daulo took a deep breath. "I fear that my son can no longer come to anyone's rescue," he said.
"Perhaps," Akim said. "We shall see."
* * *
Three days earlier, at the close of the cat-and-rat survival contest that Anya and Commander Ukuthi had euphemistically called the Games, Ukuthi had said that he and Merrick would be having a conversation soon. Now, three days later, the Troft had yet to summon Merrick to that promised conference. Perhaps, Merrick thought sourly, he was spending his time trying to dig up a few more jormungands to amuse his guests with.
Personally, Merrick was in no hurry for either talk or combat. The physical exertion in the arena hadn't reopened any of his old injuries, but he'd collected a fresh assortment of scrapes, bruises, and small cuts along the way. Nothing that the Troft doctor seemed concerned about, at least not according to Anya's translation of his still indecipherable dialect. But then, the doctor could afford to be unconcerned. It wasn't his skin that had taken all the abuse.
It was an hour after lunch on that third day when the lock clicked and the door swung open to reveal a middle-aged Troft wearing a non-armored leotard, a senior officer's insignia, and—most surprising of all—a red heir sash. [Merrick Moreau, I greet him,] he said.
[Merrick Moreau, he greets you in return,] Merrick said, slipping off the bed and standing up. He'd been given only a glimpse of his audience back in the arena, but he was pretty sure this was the same Troft he'd seen in the center of the group of observers. [A demesne-heir, to which am I honored to speak?]
[Commander Ukuthi, I am he,] the Troft said. His radiator membranes fluttered and his beak cracked slightly open. [Surprise, you have it.]
[Surprise, I have it,] Merrick conceded with a flush of embarrassment. It was double surprise, actually: first that a demesne-heir would risk facing a dangerous prisoner with his guards standing uselessly outside the door behind him, and second that the heir in question could actually read human expressions well enough to have picked up on Merrick's emotion. [Your forgiveness, I ask it.]
[My forgiveness, it is unnecessary,] Ukuthi assured him. He lifted a hand and made a gesture.
And to Merrick's even greater surprise, the cell door closed behind him, leaving the guards outside. [Privacy, we now have it,] Ukuthi said calmly.
[Surprises, you are filled with them,] Merrick said, glancing at Anya. She was sitting cross-legged on her bed, her face expressionless. Either she wasn't surprised by Ukuthi's actions or she hid it very well. [Serious risks, you take them.]
[Surprises, I have even more of them,] Ukuthi said, his beak cracking open again. Was that supposed to be an attempt at a human-type smile? He ruffled his shoulders and seemed to clear his throat—"As for risks," he said, in an accent that closely mimicked Anya's own inflections, "I do not believe I am taking one."
It took Merrick three tries to get his own voice working again. In all his years of dealing with Troft merchants and diplomats, he'd never, ever had one speak to him in Anglic. He wasn't even sure anyone in the Cobra Worlds knew they could speak Anglic. "You're—yes, very surprising," he managed. "I've
never heard a Troft speak our language before."
"It is not easy for us to do," Ukuthi conceded. "Much easier for your vocal apparatus to speak cattertalk."
"We can return to that if you'd like," Merrick offered.
"This is better." Ukuthi's beak cracked open again. "The practice, it is useful. Tell me, what are your feelings toward Anya Winghunter?"
The intellectual curiosity Merrick had been feeling at this new revelation vanished. "I have no feelings toward her," he said, letting his voice go dark and rigid.
"Yet she is human like yourself," Ukuthi pointed out. "Have you no consideration at all for her?"
Merrick looked over at Anya. She was looking back at him, her face still expressionless.
Expressionless, but perhaps not emotionless? On sudden impulse, Merrick activated his infrareds.
To discover that the woman was anything but emotionless. Her face was a swirl of heat, a pattern that seemed to indicate both fear and hope. "We call this beating around the bush," Merrick said, keying off the infrareds and turning back to Ukuthi. "Get to the point, and tell me what you want."
"I am unfamiliar with that turn of phrase," Ukuthi said. "You must tell me its origin someday. What do you know about this war?"
"I know we didn't start it," Merrick said. "I also think we're going to win it. Aside from that, not much."
"You may be correct on the second point," Ukuthi said. "But you are not correct on the first. The war was begun by humans. Specifically, the humans of the Dominion of Man."
Merrick felt his stomach tighten. He and his mother had speculated that the invasion of their worlds might have been a response to something happening on the far side of the Troft Assemblage. "The Dominion of Man is a hundred thirty light-years away, and we haven't had contact with them in seven decades," he said. "Why are we being punished for their actions?"
"That I cannot say," Ukuthi admitted. "All I know is that the demesnes fighting that war have contracted with the Tua'lanek'zia demesne to conquer and subdue the human worlds at this side of the Trof'te Assemblage. The Tua'lanek'zia contracted further with the Drim'hco'plai, the Gla'lupt'flae, and my own Balin'ekha'spmi for our assistance."