Cobra Gamble

by Timothy Zahn

  Yithtra was already on his knees by the chalip, working the hidden catch that broke the weapon apart, finally freeing the door. Grabbing the door edge with one hand and the jamb with the other, he started trying to force the door open again. Standing braced above him, Siraj and his combat suit servos were pushing at it as well.

  Braking to a halt beside them, Lorne grabbed the edge of the door below Siraj's hands, adding his own servos to the task. It was surprisingly difficult, more difficult than he'd expected. "Motor's still trying to close it," Siraj grunted. "You have hold? Good—keep pulling."

  Resettling his grip on the edge of the door, the Qasaman flipped himself up above Lorne's head into a horizontal position, his hands shifting to a hold on the top of the door with his feet braced against the side of the ship. "Now," he grunted.

  For a moment all three of them continued to strain. Then, abruptly, there was the soft snap of a burned-out motor, and the door swung free, nearly sending Siraj tumbling to the ground before he could catch himself "Clear!" Lorne shouted. "Everyone in!"

  Siraj was already inside, Yithtra right behind him. Ghushtre ran up at the head of the next group, gesturing Lorne through the door. "Inside," he ordered. "Wait in the guard room until the stairway's clear."

  Lorne made a face, but nodded and ducked inside. Part of him wanted to be at the forefront of the attack, an even larger part of him knowing that he should be at the forefront. He was, after all, one of only four people in the strike force who'd ever been inside one of these ships.

  Which was, of course, the exact reason why the mission's planners had insisted that he stay out of the assault's main spearhead. Not only was he one of the few who knew the ship's layout, but he was the only one who'd had experience controlling the drones.

  Lorne understood the logic, and he agreed with it. But he didn't have to like it.

  The sounds of combat were starting to come from the stairwell by the time the last of the strike force slipped in through the door. A lot of combat, too, Lorne realized uneasily as he notched up his audio enhancements. There was the hiss and small thuds of laser fire and the heavier thuds of falling bodies, all mixed with grunts and moans and stifled screams, both human and Troft.

  And none of that was supposed to be happening. Not yet.

  The rest of the strike force knew it, too. The Djinn and Cobras still waiting in the guard room were standing tensely in their individual groups, their eyes on the door or else raised to the ceiling, their hands or mouths twitching with suppressed nervousness as they listened to the sounds coming from the stairway.

  A few meters away, Siraj was standing with Wendell and Jennifer McCollom, his lips compressed into a tight line as he pressed his radio to his ear. Lorne worked his way over to him and touched his arm. "What's going on?" he asked quietly.

  "They've learned from their experience in Sollas," Siraj said tautly. "Their helmets are now equipped with air filters. The spearhead's gas grenades aren't affecting them."

  Lorne chewed at his lip, feeling a small throbbing in his still-tender nose from the nostril filters the doctors had implanted yesterday. The quick-acting sleep gas was one of the Qasamans' most effective weapons, and had figured heavily in the mission's planning.

  Worse, the mission had banked on the Qasamans keeping the initiative all the way to the command deck. With the attack bogged down in the stairway, that momentum was gone. "How far up are they?" he asked.

  "They've pushed back the invaders to Deck Four," Siraj said. "One more deck, and it should be safe to breach the door and try to get you to the drone control room."

  Unless the Trofts had already set up their defenses in the corridor. If Lorne had been in charge, that was certainly what he would have done.

  But there might be another way. Maybe. "Never mind Deck Four," he said. "Let's see if we can breach Deck Six."

  "The vehicle bay?" Siraj asked, frowning. "What do you expect to find in there?"

  "I don't know yet," Lorne said. "Let's grab a squad and go look for inspiration."

  The stairway battle was even louder as Lorne, Siraj, and the six other Djinn Siraj had commandeered slipped through the door and headed up. But it was also clearly winding down, and as they reached the Deck Six doorway Lorne heard the final Troft body tumble down one of the upper flights of stairs as the laser fire finally ceased. "Stairway's secured," one of the other Djinn said. "We're needed at Deck One."

  "We'll do this first," Siraj told him as Lorne pressed his ear against the door. "As soon as the bay's secured, you can join the rest of the spearhead."

  "Our orders are to—"

  "Your orders have been changed," Siraj cut him off. "Now be quiet. Lorne Moreau?"

  Lorne held his breath, keying his audios all the way up. There was plenty of noise being conducted through the metal walls and floors, but it didn't sound like there was anything coming from the bay itself. "It's either clear, or else they're set up and ready for us."

  "I suspect the former," Siraj said, pointing to the edge of the door. "The door's been welded shut."

  Lorne nodded as he saw the rippling and faint discoloration. "I can fix that. Everyone get back."

  The welding had apparently been part of a general order. As Lorne began cutting at the metal, he could see more reflected laser light from the Cobras and Djinn on the landings above him. Whoever was calling the shots for the Trofts these days, he at least knew how to generate delaying tactics.

  Unfortunately, he also knew what to do with the time those tactics bought him. As Lorne turned his antiarmor laser on the last section of weld he suddenly noticed that the warship was rumbling with a deep, almost subsonic vibration. The warship's engines were in startup mode, working their slow but steady way toward full power.

  And if there was one thing no one in the strike team wanted, it was to fight the rest of this battle while the ship was flying over the Qasaman landscape toward the bulk of the invaders' forces at Sollas.

  The last bit of weld sputtered and disintegrated in a shower of liquid metal droplets. "Done," Lorne announced. "Stay back, and let me—"

  He broke off as Siraj brushed past him, shoved the door open, and leaped inside, his combat suit's low-power sonic blasting across the bay. The other six Djinn were right behind him. Swearing under his breath, Lorne lunged through the opening after them.

  To find the bay deserted.

  "Incredible," Siraj murmured as they spread out across the open space. "They haven't even bothered to defend this place?"

  "What's there to defend?" one of the Djinn growled, looking around.

  He had a point, Lorne had to admit. There were no vehicles, all apparently having been deployed into and around Azras. There were tools and spare parts racked neatly along the walls on either side of the wide vehicle ramp, but nothing that looked like it might be a heavy laser or other weapon.

  Outside in the stairway, the laser fire was suddenly joined by the sounds of explosives and rapid-fire projectile weapons. "They're through the doors," the Djinni said urgently. "We're needed up there, Ifrit."

  "Go," Siraj ordered, still looking around.

  The Djinni gestured, and he and the others took off toward the stairwell. "On your way," Lorne called after him, "give a shout to the guard room and have Wendell and Jennifer McCollom join us."

  There was no response, but a second later Lorne heard the Djinni's booming voice as he delivered the message.

  "What do you want them for?" Siraj asked.

  "Jennifer's the only other one in the team who can read cattertalk script," Lorne told him. "She's going to help me look through all this stuff and see if there's something we can use."

  "And if there isn't?"

  Lorne felt his stomach tighten. "There will be," he said. "There has to be."

  * * *

  [My ship, the enemy has penetrated it!] a taut voice came from the speaker in Commander Inxeba's conference room. [New weapons, the enemy has them.]

  Inxeba spat a phrase that had never show
n up in Merrick's cattertalk classes. [The enemy, you must destroy them,] he snarled. [Our ridicule, it must not be seen.]

  Merrick frowned. Seen by whom? The Qasamans?

  No. Not by the Qasamans, but by the rest of the Trofts. The force that the Azras Djinn had attacked were, like Inxeba, members of the Drim demesne. Inxeba desperately wanted to keep his allies from finding out that enemy soldiers had basically just strolled aboard one of his warships.

  And that shyness might work to the Qasamans' advantage. Keeping the other Troft demesnes in the dark meant Inxeba wouldn't be able to call on their ships and soldiers to support his.

  Unfortunately, it might also mean that Inxeba would decide to cover his embarrassment by eliminating all witnesses to the fiasco. Even if it meant ignoring the normal Troft military policy against mass slaughter of civilians.

  Merrick's hands curled almost unconsciously into fingertip laser firing position. He could stop that from happening, he knew. There were only two guards at the door, with danger probably the last thing on either of their minds. A set of targeting locks on them, Inxeba, and Inxeba's officers, and with six quick shots Merrick would effectively cut the head off the Qasaman invasion force.

  Then he would die, of course, because there was no way he could get out of a ship full of enemy soldiers alive. But his death might buy a chance for the Azras team to pull out a victory.

  Only it wouldn't be just his death, he realized with a sinking feeling. Anya would die, too, whether Merrick tried to take her with him or left her here. The Drim would certainly take revenge for their commander's death, and she was after all only a human and a slave. Commander Ukuthi would die, too. He was the one who'd brought the assassin aboard.

  He was also the one to whom Merrick had given his pledge.

  Slowly, he straightened his hands again, the flash of uncertainty and courage fading away into quiet frustration. What could he do? What should he do?

  He had no idea.

  [Your courage, I am impressed by it,] Ukuthi said quietly.

  Merrick shifted his eyes to the Troft. Ukuthi was gazing at him, ignoring the sound and fury going on between Inxeba and the Azras ship commander, a knowing look on his face. [My courage, I have none,] Merrick said bitterly.

  [Courage, you do have it,] Ukuthi insisted. [Inaction, the hardest task it always is. Yet inaction, the proper course it often is.]

  [Commander Ukuthi, his attention I would have it,] Inxeba called angrily.

  [Commander Ukuthi, his attention you have it,] Ukuthi said, turning away from Merrick.

  [Balin'ekha'spmi warships, I request them,] Inxeba said. [A new force, I would send it to Azras.]

  It seemed to Merrick that Ukuthi sent a small glance over his shoulder at the two humans. [Balin'ekha'spmi warships, I will not send them,] he said.

  Inxeba's radiator membranes snapped rigid with surprise. [Your statement, repeat it,] he demanded.

  [Balin'ekha'spmi warships, I will not send them,] Ukuthi repeated. [A trap, I believe this is one. Balin'ekha'spmi warships, I will not send them into ambush.]

  Slowly, deliberately, Inxeba rose from his couch. [Balin'ekha'spmi warships, I demand them,] he said, his voice dark, his radiator membranes stretched to their limit. [Balin'ekha'spmi warships, I demand them now.]

  [My answer, you already have it,] Ukuthi said calmly. [Drim'hco'plai warships, you may send them if you wish.]

  For a long moment the room was silent except for the muffled sounds of battle coming from the speaker. Even the Azras commander had stopped talking. Keeping his head and body motionless, Merrick put target locks on both guards and on the small pistol bolstered at Inxeba's side. His pledge to Ukuthi hadn't included defending the Balin commander from his own people.

  Slowly, Inxeba's membranes folded back against his upper arms. [Glory, this operation will yet bring it,] he said, stepping back to his couch. [Glory, it will belong wholly to the Drim'hco'plai.]

  He dropped onto the couch and gestured to one of his officers. [Two warships from Purma, they will travel to Azras,] he ordered. [Arrival, what is the time until it?]

  [Floatator activation, there will be seventeen minutes until it,] the officer said. [Travel to Azras, eleven minutes will be required for it.]

  [The order, give it,] Inxeba said. [Captain Vuma, his courage and determination are required. Assistance, in twenty-eight minutes it will arrive.]

  [Captain Vuma, his strength and determination will be sufficient,] the voice from the speaker promised. [The attackers, we will hold them.]

  [Commander Inxeba, he is pleased.] Inxeba's membranes fluttered. [Death, the enemy shall have it.] He looked balefully at Ukuthi. [And then glory, we shall have it.]

  * * *

  They'd been searching the vehicle bay for five solid minutes, and Lorne was sifting rapidly and uselessly through a collection of laser actuators and cooling modules when he heard a short, sharp whistle from the small machine shop at the rear of the bay. "Broom? Akim?" McCollom called. "Got something."

  They found McCollom and Jennifer leaning over a workbench tucked away between two stacks of meter-square metal plates that were strapped securely to the wall. The bench and the storage shelf behind it held a bewildering collection of tools and equipment. "What did you find?" Siraj asked as he and Lorne came up to the bench.

  "For starters, these," Jennifer said, pointing to the plates. "They look to me like replacement hull plates."

  "Yes, that makes sense," Lorne said, eyeing the plates. "And?"

  She gave him an odd look. "And whatever weapons the Trofts are using against the Qasamans probably aren't designed to handle hullmetal," she said with exaggerated patience.

  "She's right," Siraj said, keying his radio. "Ifrit Ghushtre? Send three men to the vehicle bay immediately, and then pull back to harassment positions. We've found something the spearheads can use as shields."

  He got an acknowledgment and started unfastening the straps securing the plates to the wall. "I'll get these," he said. "McCollom?"

  "On it," McCollom said, starting on the other set of plates.

  "Hang on, I'm not done," Jennifer said. "If they want to put in replacement plates, they first have to take out the damaged ones, right? So I figure—"

  "They must have a cutting torch somewhere," Lorne interrupted, stepping to her side and scanning the equipment at the back of the bench.

  "And I figure something designed for hull plates should cut through deck plates like a laser through blue treacle," Jennifer continued. "You might be able to cut through the ceiling and climb up behind the Trofts while they're concentrating on the Djinn coming in the stairway."

  "Can't do it from down here," McCollom told her, glancing up at the bay's high ceiling. "That's too far for a cutting torch to reach."

  Lorne felt his breath catch as an idea suddenly popped into his mind. "Not up," he said. "Down. We get on top of the ship, cut through the hatch up there, and then come in behind them."

  "Nice," McCollom complimented him. "Problem: we're on Deck Six, the top of the ship is above Deck One. How exactly do you plan to get up there?"

  "You'll see," Lorne said. "Siraj Akim, what happened to Gama Yithtra's chalip?"

  "Still glued to the entry door," Siraj said, his eyes hard on Lorne's face. "You're not serious."

  "Why not?" Lorne countered. "There were four adhesive pellets on each of the chalip's cross-arms, and only two of the arms got triggered. That leaves eight pellets still available."

  "That's not enough," Siraj said. "Wendell McCollom is right—it's a climb of nearly twenty meters. You can't do it in eight steps."

  "Wait a minute," Jennifer said, frowning back and forth between them. "Climb? Climb where?"

  "Along the outside of the ship," McCollom told her. "He's right. Broom. And you're not going to be able to jump from one and attach the next one in midair. The glue can't possibly set that fast."

  "Trust me," Lorne said with a tight smile. "The trick is that once we get going, it'll be ten mete
rs, not twenty."

  McCollom huffed out a breath. "Okay, this one I have to see."

  "Three minutes," Lorne promised. "Siraj, get someone to bring that chalip up here. McCollom, you and Jennifer find and assemble the torch. You know how to use one?"

  "Probably better than you do," McCollom assured him.

  "No argument there," Lorne agreed. "I'll go find something we can use as hand- and foot-holds."

  There was a rattling sound from the main bay. Lorne tensed, then relaxed as he saw it was just the three Djinn Siraj had sent for. "And let's get it done before the grav lifts come on line. I don't want to do this from a thousand meters in the air."

  * * *

  Three minutes later, right on schedule, they were standing at the bow end of the bay, watching as Lorne lowered the wide vehicle ramp.

  But not all the way to the ground. In fact, he hardly lowered it at all, but only opened it enough to leave a meter-wide gap at the top.

  A gap big enough for them to crawl through.

  "I'll go first," Lorne said, sliding the makeshift pouch bouncing against his left to ride farther around his back. "Then Siraj, then McCollom. Jennifer, you stay here and watch the ramp. If it starts to drift—open or closed—give us a shout and try to get it back to where it is right now. Everyone ready? Let's go."

  Lorne's initial worry was that the ramp would prove unclimbable. Fortunately, that turned out not to be the case. Not only did it have low ridges to aid with traction, but it had also collected a number of pits and cracks over the years that provided plenty of finger-holds. His second worry was that Siraj, who lacked both Cobra climbing training and lockable fingers, would have to be hauled up by one of the others. But apparently his Djinn instructors had recognized the possible need for scaling nearly sheer walls, and Siraj made it up the ramp with nearly as much ease as Lorne and McCollom. Within half a minute, all three of them were perched on the end of the ramp, gazing up the smooth hullmetal of the warship's bow.