by Timothy Zahn
“They are Djinn of Qasama,” Ghushtre said. “Their names are unimportant.”
“I’m sure they are,” Tamu said coolly. “But Shahni Omnathi deserves to know the names of the men who may die because of him.”
Jody spun toward Tamu, feeling her mouth drop open. Die? “What are you talking about?” she asked carefully.
“The Dominion needs Qasama,” Tamu said, not even bothering to look at her. “For that we need Omnathi. We’ve tried ordering Uy to hand him over. We’ve tried persuading the people of Caelian to pressure Uy to give him up. Neither has worked. So we take it up a level.”
“By kidnapping citizens of another world?”
“Don’t you dare play that innocent act,” Tamu snarled suddenly, his flash of anger sending Jody an involuntary step backward. “You came here as a spy. They came here as saboteurs. I’d be well within my legal rights to have all four of you executed on the spot.”
“But you won’t,” Jody said. “Because we’re the small fish, and we’re more useful to you as bait. Live bait.”
Slowly, the redness faded from Tamu’s face as he regained control. “Yes,” he said. “But in many most cases the big fish is more cooperative if it knows how much longer the bait is likely to remain live.” He turned back to Ghushtre. “Your companions’ names?”
Ghushtre’s lips compressed into a thin line. “Djinni Kaza,” he said, nodding to his left. “Djinni Nisti,” he said, nodding to his right.
“Good,” Tamu said briskly. “Now, let me see these combat suits I’ve heard so much about. One at a time, of course. Stand up, if you will, Ifrit Ghushtre, and take off that silliweave tunic.”
“We will not be hostages,” Ghushtre said, making no move to stand up. “Nor will we be used to bargain against His Excellency’s freedom.”
“You’ll do as I say or you’ll die where you sit,” Tamu countered bluntly.
“You’ve said already you can’t kill us,” Ghushtre reminded him.
“If you don’t report, Omnathi will undoubtedly send in more of you,” Tamu said. “I can use them as easily as I can use you. And don’t hold onto any false hope about them slipping past our security—we have the faces of every genuine Caelian citizen on file. The next wave will be identified as quickly and easily as you were.”
He gestured to the bowl in front of Ghushtre. “What you should concern yourself with right now is whether or not this is how you would choose to die. Do you really want your world’s history to record that you met your end face-down in a bowl of soup?”
Jody braced herself. “Commander—”
“Shut it,” he cut her off. “I’ve wasted over a day playing nice. I’m at the end of my patience. Now, stand up and show me that suit.”
For an agonizing second Jody thought Ghushtre was going to refuse anyway. Then, slowly, he rose from his seat, his glower burning the air between him and the nearest of the Marines. Unfastening his tunic, he slid it off his shoulders, revealing the gray scaled combat suit hidden beneath it. Tucked away in his belt, just visible above the top of his silliweave trousers, were the suit’s gloves with their fingertip lasers. “Nice,” Tamu commented. “Now take it off.”
Ghushtre sent a measuring look at each of the five Marines surrounding him. Then, with clear reluctance, he pulled off the rest of the silliweave and worked his way out of the combat suit. At Tamu’s order, the other two Qasamans did the same.
“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Tamu said when the Qasamans finally stood dressed only in thin leotard undergarments. “Sergeant Tapper, you and your squad will escort our guests to their new quarters. After that, I want those combat suits taken to my cabin.”
“Can’t they at least put their other clothing back on?” Jody asked. Qasamans, she knew, were much more self-conscious about exposing their bodies than the people of the Cobra Worlds.
“There are fatigues waiting in their cabin,” Tamu said. “I don’t trust Uy not to have slipped something nasty into their silliweaves.” He gestured to the Qasamans. “But if you’d like to finish your soup first, please do so.”
“We have had enough of your hospitality,” Ghushtre said, his voice dark. “But know this, Commander. You may imprison us now. But the people of Qasama are no less stubborn than those of Caelian. We will not be your slaves. Not now, not ever.”
“The Dominion does not make slaves, Ifrit Ghushtre,” Tamu said. “But we’re at war, and every human being must do his part.” He raised his eyebrows. “Will do his part.”
“You could just ask them for their help,” Jody said acidly.
“We fully intend to,” Tamu assured her. “But those matters are for Shahni Omnathi and Commodore Santores to discuss face to face.” He gestured at the three Djinn. “There’s no point in wasting time talking to men who have no actual authority.”
Jody glared at him. But he was probably right. In many ways, the Qasamans’ governmental structure was just as rigid and top-down as the Dominion military.
“And speaking of small fish,” Tamu continued, turning back to Jody, “it’s time to return you to your bowl.”
Jody looked at the Qasamans again. Maybe if she could talk to them, they could all figure something out together. “Can’t I at least eat first?” she asked.
“No,” Tamu said flatly. “I want you back in your cabin where I don’t have to watch you. Once all of you are behind locked doors I’ll have someone bring your dinner.”
“If I’m not eating, why am I here?” Jody asked. “Just so I could see your cleverness in catching a couple of Qasamans?”
“Not at all,” Tamu said, taking her arm and pulling her toward the door behind them. “It’s hardly a secret that the Qasamans hold you and your family in high esteem. I thought they’d be less likely to start trouble if you might be caught in a crossfire.”
Her last view of the room as they left was of the three Qasamans, standing straight and proud and silent. Waiting to be taken to their cells.
Later, through the silence of the long evening, she wondered over and over if they might have had a chance if she hadn’t been there. If she’d refused to go with Tamu, or had tried to grab him at an opportune moment. If she’d just done something.
She wasn’t a small fish, she realized bitterly. She was a tool. A tool the Dominion kept around purely because they thought it might be useful again someday.
She was trapped. She was all alone.
And she had never felt more helpless in her life.
#
As Jin had expected, the Dominion’s search of the factory was quick, methodical, and thorough. During the first hour inside the somewhat claustrophobic press of the wiring conduit she heard the sound of voices five times, with the access door below her being opened for inspection each of those times.
Every time it happened she tensed up, bracing herself for the inevitable shouts of discovery or, worse, a no-warning burst of laser fire. But in each instance the access door was simply slammed shut again, and the voices eventually faded into the distance. Apparently, the way the cables clumped close together beneath Jin’s feet was fooling the searchers into thinking there was no room for anything or anyone else up there.
As to why sound or infrared detectors weren’t picking her up, that one had been even more quickly answered. Through some combination of shape and position, the conduit seemed to act like a funnel for a host of other small sounds from nearby, everything from creaks and snaps and rumbles to the footsteps and muffled conversations of the searchers. Amid all that, any sounds of breathing or small movements on her part were apparently getting lost.
The conduit also functioned as an informal heat vent. Within her first five minutes of concealment, her clothing was damp with sweat.
Still, it was a small price to pay for staying undetectable. Whether Yates had been clever or just lucky in his choice of a hiding place, he’d done a good job of it.
And as the search came to an end, or moved elsewhere, her thoughts shifted away from concerns
of her own imminent discovery to concerns of what might have happened to Paul.
The best-case scenario would be that in the presumed confused aftermath of her sabotage he’d managed to slip away and was in hiding somewhere. But Reivaro had already been on his way outside, and she doubted that he would have been so careless as to let Paul get away.
Still, no matter how furious Reivaro might be, even a Dominion colonel could only trump up charges so far. The crowd had been peaceful, and Paul would hardly have said anything to make them otherwise, and Cobra Worlds law entitled citizens to the right of peaceful assembly.
And there were a lot of Cobras in Archway and DeVegas province. Reivaro’s Marines might be good, but they were seriously outnumbered, and they were on unfamiliar territory.
No, assuming the crowd had kept their heads, everything should be all right. Paul might end up spending a day or two in the Archway jail, but that wouldn’t kill him. Sooner or later, Chintawa would get him out.
A sudden thud startled her out of her reverie. She froze, wondering if Reivaro had ordered yet another search.
But there wasn’t the glimmer of reflected light from below that usually accompanied the access hatch being opened. There was another thud, and the faint sound of voices. Leaning forward, pressing her ear to the front of the conduit, she keyed in her audio enhancers.
“—telling you, it’s not safe,” an unfamiliar voice came. “There are serious issues with impedance matching, echo-transmissions, ohm compatibly—”
“You should have thought of that before you ordered your lady Cobra to wreck the panel and all the spares,” a second voice interrupted, this one hard and cold.
“Hey, we didn’t order anyone to do anything,” the first man protested.
“You sure about that?” a third voice came. “Where exactly were you two when this whole thing came down?”
“We weren’t anywhere near here,” the first man said, and Jin could hear a fresh flood of nervousness in his voice.
“Relax, Rennie,” a fourth voice said, a hint of suppressed anger in his tone. “We were with one of your guys, showing him the generator. You can ask him.”
“Oh, we will,” Third Voice said ominously. “In the meantime, you just focus on getting that panel out of there. It won’t look good if the replacement arrives and you’re not ready to install it.”
“It’ll look even less good if the whole plant burns down,” Fourth Man countered. “Rennie’s right, you know—there’s a lot of high-volt, high-amp current that normally flows through these breakers. You can’t just slap something else in there and expect it to run without a hitch.”
“Especially stuff that doesn’t even run Aventine specs,” Rennie added.
“Don’t be stupid,” Second Man said scornfully. “Our equipment is a thousand times better than yours. If your breakers can handle the current, ours won’t even notice it.”
“It’s not a matter of handling it,” Fourth Man growled. “Weren’t you listening? There are compatibility issues—”
“Let’s try it this way,” Second Man cut him off. “Did you see what our Marines did to your Cobras out there?”
There was a moment of taut silence. “We heard about it,” Fourth Man said.
“You want to see it for yourself?” Second Man demanded. “Because we could call one of them in here for a demo. Of course, you and Rennie would have to draw straws to see who gets to watch and who gets to—well, you know.”
“No,” Rennie said hastily. “You don’t need to—”
“Shut up, Rennie,” Fourth Man bit out. “He’s bluffing. He wouldn’t dare have us shot down in cold blood.”
“We don’t bluff,” Second Man said coldly. “And you’d be surprised what martial law lets us get away with.”
“The Cobras found that out the hard way,” Third Man said. “I hope you won’t have to.”
Jin felt a prickling across her skin. The Cobras had found out the hard way? What did that mean? What in the Worlds had happened outside?
Had Paul been part of it?
Whatever had happened, Fourth Man didn’t seem all that intimidated by it. “Pretty big words from someone who hasn’t the foggiest idea how any of this works,” he scoffed. “You don’t bluff? Fine—call in your Marines and have them kill us. In fact, have them kill everyone who works at the plant and actually knows what they’re doing. Good luck then on getting a new breaker panel wired in.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Second Man said scornfully. “You think you’re the only ones who know how to do this job?”
“You think you can bully any of us into doing it?” Fourth Man countered. “In case you hadn’t heard, we just came through a war where a lot of good men and women died. We’re used to the idea of fighting for our freedom.”
“No problem,” Third Man said, his calm voice in stark contrast to the other two. “If we run out of high-voltage specialists in Archway, we’ll just bring a few in from Capitalia. They’re not so keen on dying big, noble deaths.”
There was a brief silence. “Yeah, well, that’s Capitalia,” Fourth Man muttered. But it was clear that the mention of Capitalia had knocked a lot of the defiance out from under him.
It was clear to the Dominion men, too. “There’s a lot to be said for being a live coward,” Third Man said. “So let’s pretend you want to go on living, too, and shut up the noise and get back to work.”
And with that, the conversation was over. Jin continued to listen, but all she heard were the various clicks and quiet thuds as the men worked on the breaker panel, and the occasional request for a tool or helping hand.
Leaving Jin with a pounding heart and a roiling fear in her soul.
Something terrible had happened while she’d been in here sabotaging the plant. Something that had involved Cobras and Marines and death. Something bad enough to end in a declaration of martial law.
And suddenly the question was no longer whether Paul had gotten free or would have to spend a couple of quiet nights in jail. People had died out there this morning. If the Dominion men’s taunts hadn’t been lies, some of the dead had been Cobras.
Had one of them been Paul?
And the final horror was that there was no way for Jin to find out. She couldn’t leave her hiding place, not with four men working just beneath her feet. She didn’t know what the penalty for sabotage was under martial law, but she could guess that it involved a summary trial and a quick execution.
Even worse, if they took her alive—
Her breath caught in her throat as it abruptly became clear. Of course Reivaro hadn’t had Paul shot down in the street. This whole thing was a setup, from taking over Yates’s factory, to kicking out the workers, to forcing a deadly confrontation. All of it had been deliberately designed to give Santores an excuse to declare martial law and get the Brooms out of Chintawa’s control and into his MindsEye machine.
And there was nothing Jin could do about it. Absolutely nothing.
Because if they had Paul, he was already on his way to Capitalia or one of the Dominion ships and long out of Jin’s reach. If they didn’t have him, they would probably go for Lorne next. If they somehow missed him, they would surely still be waiting for Jin to show herself.
One way or another, Santores was going to get one of them, and there was no way for her to keep that from happening. All she could do was wait, try to plan, and look for an opening.
And to hang on tightly to hope. Because for the moment, hope was all she had.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Commander Ukuthi wasn’t at all what Barrington was expecting.
Except for being a Troft, of course. That part was completely as expected. Ukuthi had never seen a Troft this close before, but he was quite familiar with the vaguely insectoid torso and abdomen, the back-jointed legs, the flexible radiator membranes on the backs of the upper arms, the oversized head and chicken-like face, and the faintly disturbing contrast between the large main eyes and the small compound ones. Everyone i
n the Dominion military—everyone in the Dominion, for that matter—had seen enough holos and vids to know what humanity’s deadliest enemies looked like.
But unlike the defiant posturing and threats that usually accompanied those vids, Ukuthi was calm and polite. Possibly it was the red sash he wore, the symbol of his place in line to someday assume the position of demesne-lord, that led to better manners than the typical Troft bothered with. Or maybe his completely unexpected mastery of the Anglic language had come with lessons on courtesy and how to deal with humans in a civilized manner.
Or maybe Ukuthi was simply an excellent con man using a better-than-average knowledge of humans to play his new acquaintances. That was a possibility Barrington was making sure to hold firmly in the back of his mind.
But if Ukuthi was a con man, he was a very good one.
And the story he had to tell was one blazing hell of a jaw-dropper.
“Interesting,” Barrington commented, his voice echoing off the walls of the small hangar bay where he and Ukuthi had set up for their conversation. “And you’re convinced these human slaves are from a lost colony and not simply the survivors of a captured ship or two?”
“The humans, they have a long history on their own world,” Ukuthi said. “My demesne-lord has spoken with several of them at length, and has no doubt they have been in Trof’te space for at least three hundred years.”
“I see.” Barrington pursed his lips, surreptitiously double-twitching his left eyelid. Garrett, monitoring the meeting from CoNCH, would have started a records search as soon as Ukuthi raised the issue of a lost human colony. If Ukuthi was telling the truth, there should be some mention of that disappearance in the Dorian’s records.
And there was. Maybe. He ran his eyes down the image, checking the dates…
“You have found it?”
Barrington focused on Ukuthi again. “Excuse me?”
“Your computer search,” Ukuthi said. “The origin of the colony, you have found it?”
“Possibly,” Barrington said, impressed in spite of himself. The corneal projector was subtle enough that even most Dominion citizens didn’t notice when one was being used. Not only was Ukuthi a good storyteller, he was also an observant one. “We have records of at least fifteen colony ships over the past four hundred years that were headed in the general direction of the Troft Assemblage when they disappeared. Your lost colony could have come from any one of them, or it could be someone who was supposed to be heading in a different direction and got seriously lost. There’s no way to pin it down more closely.”